#that can like withstand the pressures or whatever

[xoxochb]

pussy drunk percy + overstimulation 🤭🤭🤭

okay… a million times yes!!

——— ౨ৎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

around you, the world spins at a rapid pace, similar to that odious sensation right before you lay unconscious— passed out. those tiny white stars veiling your eyesight, and the lightheadedness like perhaps you’re a simple cloud in the sky, fluffy and airy, though with your given situation that’s a tad ironic. two of percy’s fingers utterly obliterate your insides, plugged into such an unhealthy depth inside of you as, at the same time, his tongue laps through the folds of your sopping core, working you mercilessly as you cry and progressively your moans jump to higher octaves. it appears that no matter how hard you tug at his hair and how many times you roughly babble his name in hopes he’ll listen— he doesn’t, remorsefully, his pace quickens.

how you were able to withstand this sensation for this long was a mystery to you. the pressure deep in your tummy invigorates briskly, winding you to a point you’re entirely sure you’re not ready to handle. as if here wasn’t enough, he pushes himself deeper inside of you, ruthlessly toiling at your sensitive cunt, his free hand gripping your thigh with such force, molding you permanently into the sheets. every second once in a while he’ll glance up at your disoriented self: hair sticking to your face, hot pink flushed cheeks, the ragged rise and fall of your chest as incoherent pleads and moans escape your red lips. percy couldn’t care less about your begging— he seems to think it’s his life mission to devour you, like the gods had bestowed this upon him with a choice: eat out your girlfriend until she passes out or never touch her again. he chose the first option, clearly.

“perce… I can’t… I’m—” gods, what the hell were you even saying? fucking nonsense, completely and utterly.

when you arrive close to your climax you feel your legs trembling greatly, squirming under percy’s hold. his grip on your skin grows tighter as your legs try to clench around him, but he’s sure to keep your thighs pried apart as he— without sympathy— works you. a long string of profanities escape your mouth, your back arching off the bed, tears streaming down your face with smudged mascara. his fingers curl deeper into you, at this point, every incoherent word, or anything actually, has been erased temporarily from your brain. all you can seem to focus on his the burning sensation running through your veins, the pounding in your head, and the brutal orgasm washing over you. please please please please. percy continues thrusting his tongue in and out of you, prolonging your peak for as long as humanly possible— is he purposely trying to kill you?

the simple thought of knowing he’s the reason for your current state of debauchery only makes him more determined to keep going, gods, he’s never tasted anything better than your saccharine, drenched cunt— soon finding his ambrosia’s going to taste a whole lot similar to this. and your sweet honey-like voice slipping his name into every moan only further encourages this, he’s a sucker for you, truly. you fist his raven hair tighter, a silent plead for him to let you go, reluctantly, he swipes his tongue over your clit once more before pulling back gently (in comparison to his prior not so gentle actions), licking his lips then sucking your arousal off and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

from his spot between your thighs, he grins up at you with such a devilish smirk. what a motherfucking sadist. you glare at him with much anger as you try to recollect yourself. but percy has other plans for you,

“‘m not done yet, angel.”

and may the gods on olympus save you from whatever he has planned next.

[toytulini]

got caught up reading about submersibles again last night tho and im about to cry over Alvin the same way we cry over the mars robots dont @ me okay

[fraugwinska]

If it’s okay, can you do Alastor x Reader where Alastor catches you relapsing after a fight with him? If it’s too much, you don’t have to do it. Just wanted some comfort for what I’m going through. You’re also a very good writer! Keep up the great work! xx

Hey anon - I hope you are doing well. I couldn't let this one sit too long in my inbox... Whatever you are going through: I hope this will help you with a bit of comfort. (I do hope I didn't misinterpret your ask...) I send you the biggest hug, my dearest! <3 TW:Self Harm,Depression,Angst - Minors DNI - 1.3k words

You were doing so well. So, so well.

Arguments with Alastor occurred from time to time, but you had done so well in not letting them become full-blown fights. His rationale and your restraint had always managed to hold the worst at bay and settle any troubles with a few deep breaths, calm words and a compromise. It was something you were hugely proud of, something you had never been able to do before, and with him - you finally seemed to manage.

But now, after a tirade of harsh words, hurtful remarks and slammed doors you are alone in your room, curled up in a bed that feels much too big and streaks of cold tears on your cheeks. Immediately after you stormed out Alastor's radio tower you regretted your tone, regretted what you said, the way you got irrationally upset and how you provoked him - just to hurt him. You were unfair, cruel even, and the worst part was you didn't mean a single thing you said in the heat of the argument. Of course, Alastor said some choice words to you too, nasty things said in cold calmness, but only in reaction to your emotionally charged onslaught. And it didn't change the fact that you had done him wrong, over a fucking triviality that spun out of control.

It doesn't change the fact that the feelings and thoughts you feared slowly return, thoughts of your inadequacy, your worthlessness, your shortcomings all coming back into your head in one big punch of guilt and insecurity. Spiraling, you feel yourself getting more and more tense, like a pressure cooker without a valve, ready to burst. Your chest hurts - no, everything hurts: Your chest, your arms, your head, your heart.

You had done so well.

But you are desperate, panicked - you've pushed the one person away that was able to ground you, the only one that could make you feel safe and strong enough to withstand this urge, this need to hurt, to release. You bury your nails in your thigh, but it is far from enough. He must hate you now, and could you blame him? No, no you couldn't, and you push yourself off the bed, almost frantic.

Release, release, release - where is it? The shame you hid when you first moved into the hotel, the valve you had used so often to momentarily drain yourself from this burdening pain, the tool you had to use because you weren't reborn in hell with the fortune of sharp talons.

The loose floorboard creaks under your erratic steps. Ah. There. Hidden under your feet, untouched for so long. You start to cry again as you kneel down, lifting the panel. You feel like a failure.

Sorry, I am so sorry, your head chants as you reach for it with trembling hands, please just let it be a little less, just a tiny, little...

"Darling..."

You freeze. His voice is quiet, tune- and toneless echoing from behind you. It sends a new shiver through your tense, quivering body. Your hand hovers over the small object but you can't move it away, eyes squeezed shut in defeat. Your brain races, thinking of anything to say but coming up empty.

"My sweetling, whatever you're looking for under there...", he continues slowly, softly, each step of his dressing shoes against the parquet resounding painfully loud in your ears. You're so mortified by him catching you in the act that the tight coil in you seems ready to snap. "...will not do you any good."

He halts when when he is next to you, kneeling down. You feel his shoulder brush your back as he lays a clawed hand on yours and gently pulls it away from the hole in the floor. Your shoulders begin to shake with ragged sobs and his tender touch on your cheek prompts you to tilt your head, face hot, and to look him into his eyes that seem both understanding and sad.

"Harming yourself will only make you hate yourself more than you regrettably already do."

You try to breathe, but fail miserably, choking on the air around you. How could you justify what you were about to do, how could you hurt him again like this, with this action, with this thoughts, after everything you both have worked for? You had done so well - Why didn't you have it more under control, like you should?

"I'm sorry, A-Alastor... I'm sorry, s-so sorry, please..."

He pulls you into him, his arms wrapping around you in a tight, steady embrace. One hand comes up, stroking your hair in tender movements, shushing you quietly as he lets you sob into his shoulder. The longer he holds you the easier it gets to draw deep breathes, until you finally manage to draw in the air that your body lacked so much. With each rise and fall of your chest, you feel a tiny bit of the panic fade, as if his soothing static draws it out in humble waves, soft and soothing around and inside you.

"I know, darling...", Alastor murmurs, kissing the top of your head and tightening his hold, "It's all long forgiven already."

A shattered sigh escapes you. How could he do all this for you? Accept you, with all the flaws and mistakes and shortcomings? How can he forgive you with such gentle ease? And still care for you, despite and including it all, why? How?

"Please don't hate me..."

He only loosens his grip when you stop trembling, carefully taking your chin between his claws, prompting you to break the chain of self-degrading thoughts and silencing the whispers in your head as he locks his eyes on yours.

"I could never, darling, even if I tried. But you need to understand: You are fighting the most vicious and cruel enemy there is, my love.", his face is void of the smirk he often wore, the one he doesn't use to tease or ridicule, or mock, it's his serious smile. The one he wears when he's about to be blunt. "Yourself."

A sudden rush of fresh tears cloud your vision. He's right, you know he is - you have always been your own worst enemy. Never giving yourself a fighting chance, the help and care you didn't feel you deserve. It felt so tiring, hopeless, in these moments where you fell victim to your weakness and turned it all onto yourself.

"I'm... so weak."

"We all have our battles. And this happens to be one you exhausted yourself to win on your own. However...", he offers you a sweet smile, taking your hand, "...it's a battle you don't have to fight alone anymore."

He takes your face into one of his large hands - the warmth of his palm is soothing against the rawed skin of your cold cheek as you instinctively lean into it, chasing the gentleness of the touch. The smile he gives you is more serious than you've ever seen before, and he lifts his other hand, waving his fingers for a split second in the corner of your eyes - the loose floorboard squeaks as it magically sets itself back into its place and seals itself with the flooring, eliminating the option of taking it off again. Alastor sighs, tilting his head to recapture your gaze.

"Whatever angry words are exchanged and however vexed we might be with each other... please, my love, let me hold you together in my arms when you threaten to fall apart like this."

How long he held you in his arms that night, settled in your bed instead of his as you usually did - you didn't know. How many soothing touches he planted on your body – you didn't count. All that mattered were the soft kisses that he pressed on your cheeks, the way he held your hand, fingers entwined with yours, and the soothing words he repeated to you, over and over like a mantra.

"You are doing well, my love."

[gotham-daydreams]

Honestly, in a situation like not [] where they aren't willing to physically hurt the reader but psychologically mess with them? It's fucked but at the same time I have too good of an imagination. When it comes to neglect there's so many aspects of it that could happen and even if I'm pissed I could keep my mouth shut to the point I feel numb.

I mean they can't change you or break you if you just stay in your own head after all? Lil stories in your head to keep you busy, unholy amount of hours spent sleeping. I don't care if I waste away if it means not having to deal with people who won't even listen or admit that it's gonna take time to undo trauma and won't take the proper steps to undo it.

They take things up a notch and limit food or start doing things that prevent you from sleeping? Do it, at least the hat man will be a better friend. Can't break what's not there, the batfam always has this mindset that so long as they get their way that they would do what's necessary but that's entirely because they are all too selfish to actually really respect how you feel. And no amount of bugging me or yelling at me or trying to get a rise out of me will change the fact I can just slip into my mind and ignore it all.

The only way I'd ever stop being in my head and not even wasting time on them is if they actually tried to be genuine in fixing things and admit they fucked up and are doing it out of guilt. Either put down your pride or stay with a reader who will gladly stay tucked away in the crevice of their brain in an imaginary field of flowers with whatever lil character they make to enjoy the time in their head <3

Anyways I love your series and can't wait for more!! Please take care and hydrate!!!

I do agree! Especially in this scenario where they’re way more unwilling to physically hurt the reader, because... well, they want to hear your music! Like a little songbird, just tucked away from the public eye, just for them to hear you sing...

It'll definitely get on their nerves, and some will probably crumble under the pressure - but those that don't aren't actually the ones you should be worried about. I mean, of course they'll try to do everything else they can, and at that point - its a contest of willpower and to see who can outlast the other (and spoiler, most of them will definitely lose), but some are definitely more stubborn than others. After all, their 'love' is spawned out of guilt, obligation, and a messy mix of things that's turned into this ugly beast of a thing they see as love - if you aren't willing to take it, then that's fine, but you definitely aren't getting anything until you do.

Though, again, at some point the time and treatment definitely begins to effect them too. And that’s... not good, especially when some of them are known for their resolve, will, and general ability to withstand so much crap despite not even being superhuman (even if in all honesty, compared to the average guy, they may as well be). Them being insane does not help with that fact.

They'll begin to consider things they wouldn't have even thought of before out of sheer desperation and need. They'll think about it, plan it out a little, and before they even know it - they're losing hours of sleep trying to find ways to actually execute it. Hell - some may even act impulsively, and just flat out do it without giving it a second thought. Because they can't. They can't think. They can't sleep. Not without you - not after another month, another week, another day, another hour, another second without you.

They need it. Need you. Need your warmth, your presence - to feel like they're doing something right, even when its so wrong. Even if they've left you damaged beyond repair, some still want to feel like they can fix you, put you back together... and what better way to feed that delusion then to hold you in their arms? To do all of these things with you... even if you're not mentally there?

At that point, they'd sacrifice never being able to hear your music from you to get that. To have that fabricated connection. They'd give up that one thing that's been keeping them from harming you physically, and go all out.

[Which... descriptions of losing limbs, and general gore under the cut, it's not pretty but not super detailed either? Yes, it's towards the reader. Yes the reader is awake. There is no cut away, but some dancing around using some phrases repeatedly. Consider yourself warned and advised. Even if it's just descriptions - the family isn't playing nice.]

Maybe they'd start small... just a leg, maybe two, not even a foot- your legs from the knee down are going indefinitely. Maybe even the whole thing if certain people do it impulsively, and aren't thinking - aside from the fact that they need you close, but they just have to get these things out of the way. To lessen your struggle, to reassure themselves you won't run, of course - after all, you can't run if they just... take away that option, right? It's for the best, they'd tell themselves, they need to do this. They have to. You gave them no other choice- and now... now they had to make a tough choice. They have to do this.

If it's done impulsively, it's messy. I guess not having a lot of experience cutting off limbs or disabling someone isn't going to make things easier, who knew, am I right? Taking lives (for some of them), and beating people up is one thing, but cutting off arms and legs? It's weird to think about until you're the one doing it, and in a frenzy no less.

Some of the more impulsive ones you really have to look out for, because if they do it then it is painful, and that is no exaggeration. As much as they're thinking about you, they also aren't at the same time - at least not you in the present as they're doing the removal. You'll pass out from pain, or just the visceral sight right before you witness your leg getting torn off. Real messy stuff. It's not subtle at all, they barely hide it - if they even try to allow you that luxury. If anything, you see too much of it. Either way, you're out like a light, and left with whatever you saw as nothing is left to the imagination. Unless your fucked up mind makes it worse, to which- a lot is left to the imagination as that nightmare of a scene is messed with and mixed in your head like a toddler left in the kitchen.

Of course, the family will take care of the messy outcome, and get you to another room and everything (after all, they have one too many spar ones), but, well, that won't change the reality of the situation, will it? Hell, get one of the more rough ones pissed off or just do something one of the more impulsive ones doesn't like, and you'll lose your arms, and depends on who does it - you'll lose them just as you lost your legs, and you'll get to watch... before you pass out, of course.

Maybe they'll get you things to help, like robotic limbs and such, though its not that great and doesn't make things easier. Not even a little. They'll be able to control everything you do, essentially, down to what you can even touch or interact with.

You'll feel more trapped then you ever have before, as even your body, every limb attached to your torso is theirs. Theirs to control. To mess with, and just like before, they'll take it away if you do something that makes them upset.

They'll leave you more than just defenseless.

[gatorbites-imagines]

Maybe a Steve Rogers x Male Reader with a choking kink???🤔

Steve Rogers x Male reader

Headcanons

i miss stevie so much, i still live in denial about endgame to this day.

I’ve had so little free time to write for the past while, and I’ve been living off of energy drinks for the past couple of weeks, but I hope y’all still enjoy this :3c

Now, there’s two scenarios that could be put. Who’s the one with the thing for choking? You or Steve? It would be pretty similar either way, but seeing as Steve is a super soldier can do a bit more than you, or needs a bit more than you.

If you are the one that likes to be choked, Steve is your guy. I mean, have you seen his hands? Big, sturdy and he has super strength, and the training to control said strength.

He would also be all about safety, meaning he looks up different guides and diagrams on how to choke a person correctly, where to put pressure, where not to put pressure, for how long, and so on. There would be no fun times without safety being there.

But when you guys have set everything up, made safewords and safemotions, and have discussed what needs to be done, Steve is all for it, in private of course. He wouldn’t be the type of person to do anything like that in public, since choking can be dangerous if done incorrectly, and since he wants to keep it private.

When you guys are in private though, I could imagine Steve being a bit of a tease. Like when you guys are cuddling on the couch, Steve will hook his arm around your neck in what seems like a casual hold, but you both know if he squeezed a bit, your air would be cut off just enough to leave you lightheaded.

Steve would also be bold enough to grab you by the throat, safely of course, to pull you into a kiss, where he would dig his fingers in just right to make you a bit dizzy. So he would steal the breath right out of your mouth with his kiss, and keep you from taking more in with his grasp.

Steve also gives the best praise, his words almost making you just as dizzy as his hands and arms. You would regularly find yourself in a headlock, your back against Steves sturdy chest as he whispers praise into your ear, his arm releasing just enough for you to gulp down air when you need it, before he cuts it off again.

Afterwards, Steve would make sure you are fine, get you something to drink, and what else you might need for your neck. Being the man he is, Steve would most likely also run a medical check, just to make sure it didn’t cause any lasting damage. He’s not above dragging you to medical, if need be.

If Steve is the one that likes to be choked, there would still be a focus on safety, but you might have to put your foot down and have to enforce it at times since Steve has a habit of pushing himself.

Being a super soldier also means Steve needs more than just your arm or hand around his neck most days, if he really wants his vision swimming. That is, if you don’t have super strength as well, where you could just pull the same moves as if It were Steve doing it to you.

You might have to use some professional assassin moves, if you don’t want to use any equipment. Natasha doesn’t question just why you want to learn how to take down a guy like Steve by choking, but you have a feeling she knows.

You guys would have to tie up his hands and legs as well, since the body tends to react when being choked, and he doesn’t want to accidentally hurt you with his flailing, unless you can withstand it. He doesn’t have a preference, sometimes he quite likes his hands being locked together, since it helps him get into whatever mental state he wants to go into.

Steve is as much of a sucker for praise as the next guy, so please praise him and coo at him as you choke him out with whatever you are choking him out with. Be it your arms, your legs, or some kind of collar or even chain.

He doesn’t mind degradation as well, so if you guys are doing some kind of play don’t feel too bad pulling some stuff on him, since it always just helps him give up more of the control he wants you to take.

You always have to keep an eye out when you choke Steve, since like I said earlier, he likes to push his limits. Its nothing against you, he just doesn’t want it to end even when he knows he should safeword or safemotion.

But if he does pass out, you know what to do, just like he would know what to do with you if you passed out. This is where Steves long talks about safety come in handy, since you can get him into the right position and get him comfortable so you can take care of him when he comes too again.

All in all, it can go both ways, and either way, Steve finds safety most important for both of you the entire time, as he should.

[lewdmommie]

🕷️Caught in your web🕷️

Miguel O’haraxspiderwoman!reader

Warning:18+NSFW,Breeding,Praise,language,violence, blood play, rough sex, Bondage, size kink etc

Summary: Spider y/n falls through a portal and ends up in the year 2099

Comment if you’d like part 2🎀

Word count: 5.k

The cuffs around your wrist squeeze tighter the more you struggle against them. That weird electric prickly feeling begins to set in before you decide to conserve your energy. It was useless with your web supply cut off, A burning sears across your cheek as the guard delivers another blow. A metallic taste of blood pools in your mouth,you spit resentfully at his army green boots.

“If that’s all you got we’re gonna be here all day.” You sneer. The guard raises his hand pulling back with more momentum than before, striking you again. Your head hangs with exhaustion, sweat dripping onto the concrete floor. “The serum. I want it.” The sound of calculated clicks fill the space as a voice makes its way closer and closer. The footsteps get louder before stopping completely, Your spidey senses are off the charts. A calloused finger taps the underside of your chin putting your bloodied face on display. “Fascinating…your wounds have already started repairing themselves” your head whips away from his touch,repulsed. He continues “That serum is the missing link to a suit that could withstand the molecular pressure of traveling through the multiverse. The human body is far too fragile to have its cells ripped apart and woven back together, trust me we’ve tested that theory.” The blind fold is snatched away from your eyes. You squint at the sudden change in lighting, the room is fuzzy before coming into focus. You’re in what seems to be a warehouse… a huge warehouse. This building had to be connected to something bigger and judging by the advanced technology, Array of computers, and Enormous Hexagonal machine at the center of the room, it was most likely a laboratory of some kind. A man in a midnight suit towers over you with an unhinged look in his eye. “You’re my missing link.” He practically drools. A feeling of dread stabs you, this wasn't looking good.

“You’ll have to kill me. Oh wait you can’t… because… your missing link…it’s in my head.” You smile giving a small labored laugh.

“Oh Doctor Y/LN who needs your mind when I have your body. These powers you have…I assume you weren’t born this way. This isn’t some comic book fairytale. People aren’t born special. We make ourselves special…and that’s exactly what you did, isn't it doctor?” He crouches glaring deeply into your eyes.

“I am going to wring every last drop of serum from your body, you will be nothing but a husk when I am done with you.” He grins before shooting back to his feet.

“Activate the machine and get her hooked up to the destabilizer. I want this thing up and running by tonight” He places a cigarette between his lips, striking it with a gold plated lighter, smoke swirls in the air.

“Kill her nice and slow for wasting so much of my time.” He Flicks the still burning cigarette in your direction,the red hot cherry barely missing your skin.

Two guards force you to your feet, dragging you to a chair riddled with tubes and wires.

Shit.shit.shit. You think, going limp and using your body weight to slow them down. They unlock your handcuffs in order to strap you into the machine, without thinking you shoot two webs in random directions grabbing whatever they land on and yank them towards the guards. A desk and filing shelf come flying at the men knocking them unconscious. You attempt to shoot a web at the guard who stood at the entrance but they unfortunately got away, you hear them call for backup on their radio.

I’m outnumbered… your mind races

A red button in the middle of the control center catches your eye.

That’s my way out, you conclude flipping over the unconscious men and landing gracefully on top of the command center.

Big scary red button…what can go wrong? With nothing to lose you slam the button. The machine activates with an obnoxious roar, lights begin to flicker from the insane power output. You walk up the stairs leading to the device, it seems to be made up of millions of tiny pixels, each spec representing a possible reality or dimension. Colors you didn’t even know existed vibrated within this portal.

“Don’t you dare! This is my life’s work!” A guttural scream shreds the air.

“Well I guess…better luck next life?” You give a cheeky salute before falling into the unknown.

~

“ay dios mío, I don’t need a spidey sense to see she’s wearing a suit.” The voice sounds distant but close enough for you to make out their conversation. “Yes I am sure, I checked, there are web shooters…right, she hasn’t woken up yet…Okay.” he sighs. Your eyes flutter open and you’re greeted by a blue sky and fluffy white clouds. A Dark shadow cast over your view before you can fully appreciate it. Another me?… you think to yourself unsure if you’re seeing things right or if it’s a hallucination from the interdimensional travel.

“Where am I?” You push off the ground with a grunt.

“Nueva York” He states with an annoyed tone.

“Nueva York? You mean New York City? How did I end up in New York City…” You ramble frantically.

“Idiota, Nueva York, have you been living under a rock for the last century?” He kneels down edging forward evaluating your features. With a curious hand, he brushes your hair back. You wince as his finger accidentally glides over the fresh slash on your cheek. For a split second his eyes go wide with concern before resting back to judgemental slits.

“What happened here?” His hand hovers over your wound, keeping a good distance to avoid hurting you any further. Miguel didn’t have many moral compasses but one of his top three rules was to always protect women and children. Any villains who dared make the mistake of harming either were given no mercy. Killing was never his first option, but it wasn’t completely off the table if needed. His blood boils at the sight of you, his instinct is to destroy whoever would do something so vile. His teeth bare down, the tips of his fangs prick the smooth skin of his inner lip, a subtle hint of blood hits his tongue.

“Who did this to you?” He asks again, more aggressive than before.

“The Director.” You mutter. Running from a fight wasn’t in your nature but The Director’s forces were too much to handle. You needed to get away, regroup, and being shackled to a cold slab of metal wasn’t the best place to do that.

“Director, most likely a new wannabe villain…leave this to me. You’ve had enough fun playing dress up for one day.” He says as he gets back up. His eyebrow perks inquisitively for a second before turning around. “Cool toy by the way.” He waves off. Impulsively you shoot a web that whips around his ankles holding him in place. Knees bending Miguel centers himself, stabilizing his balance.

“How’s that for a toy?” You push off the ground, palms flat, landing a forward front flip straight onto your feet.

You approach cautiously, nearly walking on the tips of your toes, he doesn’t budge or even speak. He looks dangerous, measuring in at 6'9, his chiseled physique, red eyes that seemed to see right through you, and fangs didn’t help much with looking friendly. Standing at arm's length. You speak slowly.

“I’m not here to fight-”

“Wouldn’t be much of a fight.” he growls, baring his claws.

“It’s my turn for questioning.” You say.

“You must have stolen that device. I will have to detain you.” He lunges at you stumbling clumsily.

“What’s your name?” You question. Miguel stays silent for a while pondering if he should give out such sensitive information to an imposter.

“Isn’t it obvious,Spider-Man.” He states finally looking down at the red spider symbol on his suit.

“This can’t be real. It couldn’t have actually worked. I thought I’d get sent to a McDonald’s a few blocks away or something…I’m really in a different universe” you grumble to yourself, pacing back and forth.

“Are you on something right now?” His brow scrunches accentuating the lines in his forehead.

“W-what do you mean by that! Are you asking if I’m on drugs?” You’re snatched away from your personal monologue by his ludicrous accusation.

“It’s alright I'm used to super fans, just tell me where you live and I can get you back home safely.”

“Super fans? Do you think I’m supposed to be dressed up as you? My suit is way better than yours; if anything you’re cosplaying me!” You wince, doubling over, the adrenaline has started wearing off.

“You need a hospital. Libérame(set me free), I can help you.” He struggles against your webs once more,failing to break free.

“I am fine I just need to rest for…a…minute-“ your words trail off.

Miguel breaks into action, the webs resist before shredding apart as he surges forward catching you in his solid arms.

“Joder(fuck),she’s out cold” he supports your body. His web shoots, sticking to the opposite building. A strong arm locks you in place as he jumps swinging through the maze of businesses and skyscrapers.

~

shooting up in a cold sweat, your chest heaves heavily struggling for breath.

“Just a dream” you exhale relieved holding the blanket to your bare chest.

“Oh great,You’re awake.” At the corner of the room Spider-Man leans against the wall,smirking.

Your hands scramble for more blanket to shield your nude body.

“Where are my clothes?!” A hot blush creeps on your cheeks.

“I haven’t quite figured that out myself, some time after you passed out your…suit somehow submerged itself into your flesh. Disintegrating right in front of my eyes” He looks down stroking his chin.

“The suit deactivated because of my low brain activity, it thought I was transforming back. Oh god did you see anything?” You ask curling into yourself.

“Wasn’t much to see.” He shrugs.

You scoff before noticing a fresh set of clothes sprawled in the chair beside the bed.

“I came to let you know where the bathroom is, I’m sure you want to get cleaned up after everything that’s happened.”

“Why did you bring me here…and where is here exactly?”

“This is my place. I couldn’t just leave a fellow spider person unconscious on a rooftop. It doesn’t really help the brand. Whatever you have inside you is way too powerful to let a villian get lucky and stumble upon.” He explains. So it’s about my powers huh? Typical. You think holding eye contact with the spider jerk. The color of his eyes stand out to you, their vibrant red hue shines in the dim light. The more you observe him the more intense his features become, he’s extremely handsome under that constant grimace. You find your eyes lingering on his spandex clad body, tracing how the fabric molds to the shape of each muscle. So tight you could see even the slightest twitch or flex. He folds his arms awaiting your reply, This movement forces you to look down at the sheets,flustered.

“Y-yeah that’s true, thanks, I’ll uh go take that shower now.”

“The bathrooms down the hall to the left, I have towels folded on the sink along with toiletries. Have a nice bath…you need it.” He holds his nostrils closed exiting the room dramatically.

Lifting your arm you take a quick sniff. Your nose scrunches at the smell of battle. Interdimensional travel is quite the workout. Your toes wiggle on the cool hardwood floor seeing if it’d crumble underneath your feet. To your surprise it doesn’t, meaning this place is actually real life and not just some simulation. Peeking your head from behind the security of the door frame, you scan the area before scurrying down the hall. Miguel stands in the living area mumbling something under his breath.

“So her picture is nowhere in the police database?…no, ugh Tan molesto(so annoying), check again lyla.” He commands.

He really thinks I’m a crazy stalker fan you think in disbelief, you sneak down the hall stepping through the open bathroom door, you close it behind yourself . The bathroom had dark simplistic themes with splashes of red that popped. The sink and bathtub are made with the same charcoal colored marble, the sink is neatly decorated with necessities such as a toothbrush, electric razor, hair brush, cologne and deodorant. To the left of the sink are expertly folded black towels, one for washing and one for drying. The mirror is larger than average and sits rectangular at the same length as the sink.Turning around a glimpse of your back stops you in your tracks. The wounds have closed but the scars and bruises remain. A reminder of your goal…to take down the director. Your fingers trail the scar on your cheek and anger

bubbles from a place deep within . He’d taken everything from you and he had a debt to pay for those atrocities. You wanted his life as payment. Pulling back the scarlet shower curtain you twist the handle all the way to hot, nothing was better than a steaming hot shower to wash away a day. Grabbing the small washcloth you unroll it and step into the tub, holding it under the water before lathering with the body wash propped at the edge of the bathtub. It smelled strongly of musk and deep woody undertones befitting for an attractive egotistical Superhero. The scent of him causes your thighs to squeeze shut as the throbbing sets in. You close your eyes, gliding the towel slowly over your skin imagining his touch. Your head falls back as the towel travels up your neck, the muscles in your throat contract as you swallow back a moan imagining his large hands gripping you there. Washing your chest the fibers of the towel cause a gentle friction over your now stiff nipples earning a small yelp from you. Everything is feeling too good. The bathroom is steamy, the scent of him floating all around you. Absent-mindedly your fingers slide down the length of your stomach trailing a line to your pulsating heat. The hot shower stream collides with your sensitive flesh. The water sprays firmly on your chest stimulating your taut pearls. It’s too much to handle, behind your eye lids you can see him stepping into this shower and fucking you ruthlessly against the shower wall. That rebellious finger teases the slick line of your womanhood, just barely pushing past the soft folds. The tip of your finger slides over your slippery bud, a soft moan falls from your lips. Miguel notices you’ve been in the shower for some time now and begins to worry for your well-being. Just as his fist hovers over the door to knock, he is stopped in his tracks at the sound of desperate whimpers and groans. She isn’t…she couldn’t be. He shakes away the notion concluding you may just be sick from today's events. Regardless he didn’t want to disturb you unless you called for him. For some reason he couldn’t seem to walk away from the door, on the contrary he takes a step closer, curiosity getting the better of him. His heart rate skyrockets as he listens intently.

“Uhn p-please touch me…please.” You beg.

The tips of his ears are warm with blush. The crotch of his suit tightens, suffocating the raging hard on he desperately tries to suppress. His forehead rests on the door as he tries to slow his heavy breathing. Blood rushes through his veins enhancing his already heightened senses. It’s almost as if he could feel you through the wall, the only thing separating him was the door,which he could break down with ease. His lips part exposing sharp ivory fangs, his breath is labored and his body shaking with need. He needed to release these feelings deep inside you. breaking down that door and completely having his way with you on the bathroom floor was the only way to tame the fire burning deep inside him. Every muscle in his body tensed and quivered as he became solid with arousal. I need her. I need to be inside her now. A voice growls in his mind. Suddenly the water cuts off. He steps away from the door chest heaving up and down. Biting his lip he walks away, going into his bedroom to find a change of clothes that will allow his throbbing erection to feel a bit more comfortable. You grab the dry off towel and secure it around your frame.

The clothes. You think realizing they were left in the bedroom.

With a quick peek outside, the coast is clear the spider jerk is nowhere in sight so you B line it to the bedroom. An audible gasp escapes as you cover your mouth in shock. There he stood half naked wearing only a pair of navy blue briefs. His body could have been sculpted by gods, never had you seen someone so beautiful. He turns around glaring at you through his curly hair, eyes gleaming like ruby’s.

“I-I left my clothes, I’m sorry I didn’t know you were in here.” You quickly look away, the image still fresh in your mind.

“It’s fine. I was just changing.” He slips on his white tee shirt, closing the drawer.

“Right of course this is your room, in your house, and your clothes…” you ramble.

“Yeah. Sure. Hurry and get dressed, we need to talk.” He says with an unamused tone.

“O-kay!” He bumps your shoulder as he exits the room.

“Ouch.” You exclaim, holding your arm.

Grumbling angrily under your breath, you pick up the oversized tee and shorts combo. The clothes swallow you naturally considering his massive size. You make your way to the living room. your hands work tying your hair back as you sit on the opposite side of the couch watching him closely.

“I was thinking about your suit.” He starts.

“Please don’t bring up how I was naked earlier.” You plead hiding your face.

“W- no I’m not talking about…that.” His voice becomes deeper as he rubs the back of his neck reminiscing on how hard the sound of your voice made him just minutes ago.

“I’m talking about the technology. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen…something that hasn’t been explored, Ever. Something almost otherworldly.” He scratches his head in confusion.

“Okay so now do you believe I’m not some psycho fangirl?”

“It isn’t completely off the table. But if you are really a spider person…prove it. Prove it isn’t some kind of illusion.” He leans back, arms stretched across the back of the couch, his legs parted comfortably. You can’t help your eyes wandering to the visible bulge that tented between his thighs.

“What was the question again?” Your eyes are glossy and cheeks flustered. Miguel follows your line of vision seeing the lustful gaze consume you. His cock twitches, making him shoot up, using his arms to cover the evidence.

“Prove you have powers!” He raises his voice slightly.

“Okay okay no need to yell.” You stand taking a few steps away from the couch.

His eyes follow you curiously as you stop about three feet in front of him. In mere seconds his hands are forced together by a string of abnormally strong webbing. Wrapping the loose string Around your palm,you pull yanking him to his feet.

“The more you struggle the tighter it becomes.” You inform him. His eyes are low and his lips have a rosy hot blush. You advance forward using the remaining web to bind his wrist tighter. With one final pull it is secured firmly in place.

“ Te deseo tanto(I want you so much)” Miguel moans before quickly regaining his composure.

“Huh what does that mean?” You inquire unsure if you heard him correctly.

“N-nothing it doesn’t mean anything. Where are the webs coming from?”

“Here.” You point to your wrist.

“Then why do you have a web shooter? Sounds like a trick to me.” He says through clenched teeth.

“The shooter strengthens the quality of my webs. It wouldn't be fun swinging fifty feet in the air and having a web break on you.”

“That’s true. You seem to have some experience with this lifestyle. I can assume you’ve been this way for a long time.”

“Yeah…a few years actually.” You sound far away.

“I can’t believe another spider person has gone undetected for so long.” He looks deep in thought.

“I'm not from here exactly.”

“Did you move from a different state? A lot of things have changed after the Heroic age so it would make sense you were in hiding-“ he speaks matter-a factly.

“What year is it?” You interrupt.

“Year? I think you might have hit your head pretty hard. It's the year 2099 don’t you remember?” The world starts spinning around you.

“20…99.You’re Spider-Man from the year 2099? This isn’t right, I shouldn't be here!” Tears stream down your face as you realize just how far away from home you really are.

Without thinking he lifts his bound hands over your head pulling you flush against his rock solid chest.

His chin nestles in your hair, you can feel his warm breath on your cheek. With each sob he pulls you closer,deeper into him.

“Eres demasiado bonita para llorar.” He whispers in your ear. The sudden change in language catches your attention, halting the flow of tears.

“W-what does that mean?” Your head leans back, staring up at him with blurry eyes.

“You’re too pretty to cry.” He breathes.

Giving into the temptation his arms lock around your waist hoisting you to his eye level. You nod, wanting to listen to the only thing that made sense in that moment ,the only thing that felt real…your body. He exhales a sigh of relief at your nod of consent taking advantage of your position he closes the distance with his lips. You hadn’t even recognized the amount of tension in your body until completely relaxing in his arms. The kiss is hungry as you two struggle for power, he clearly wants to take control but you wouldn’t make it that easy. You snake your arms out of his grasp, tangling your hands in his chestnut curls. Your feet are dangling off the ground, taking advantage of this you wrap your legs around his waist. His tongue sneakily slips past your lips petting the inside of your mouth, tasting you for the very first time.

“Tan deliciosa(so delicious)” he mumbles into your mouth.

His warm wet appendage entangles with your eager tongue dancing together in a tango of passion. With a pained groan he forces his wrist apart breaking through the barrier of your webs, desperate to touch you.

“Need…more” he is no longer able to articulate full sentences. The lust drowns him and he pulls you down with him. His now free hands roam your body leaving no place undiscovered. His giant hand grips the back of your neck pulling you deeper into the kiss. He holds you still as he finds solace in your lips, there is no place he’d rather be in this moment than Buried hilt deep inside your walls. His other hand grips your ass kneading the soft skin. As you begin to slip, he bounces you with one arm, holding you even tighter. He blindly sits down on the couch, a bit of a bumpy ride but you land gently straddling his hips. He pulls away to stare fervently at you with rose colored eyes. Without bothering to remove your shirt in a humane way, he slashed a talon between your breasts, roughly splitting the fabric.

“So fucking beautiful” he runs his tongue up the length of your torso all the way to your neck. You tremble beneath his touch. He plants warm kisses up your throat, sucking and nipping the smooth flesh. His fang pokes dangerously close with each lap, threatening to sink in at any moment. He softly bares down breaking just the surface of your skin, a small trickle of blood pools at both sides of the bite. You gasp at the sudden pain but quickly melt as he licks it away. The fact you’re both spider people his venom doesn’t work the same way it would on a human. It is not poisonous or toxic. Your body processes it by turning it into dopamine intensifying your bodily sensitivity. The effects take action immediately; electricity vibrates every cell in your body.

“W-wait i don’t even know your name…your real name.” You huff trying to catch your breath.

“Miguel. Yours?” He smiles, the lines in his face stand out making him look even more charming.

“Y/n” your eyes move side to side as he leans in again this time lower.

“Nice to meet you, Now por favor fóllame(please fuck me)

“Oh god…ah…please” you plead as he sucks your erect peaks. He sucks and teases your nipples, he moans as you grab his hair for support.

“Uhn…mamita harder, pull harder” he groans, flicking his tongue over your hard pearls. You obey, pulling with a little more force than before. A shiver runs down his spine, his eyes flutter as they roll back.

In an instant he turns around flipping you onto your back, he kneels between your legs on the living room floor. He ejects a web plastering your ankles together. Your back is flat on the couch cushion and your lower half hangs being supported only by his firm grip on your ankles. Just as before he doesn’t bother with removing your bottoms. He lifts your legs up, creating tension in the fabric and slicing at the resistance point splitting the shorts in two exposing your eager slit.

“Oh dios te necesito ahora(oh god I need you right now)” he pants.

Using the hand grasping your ankles, he pushes your legs back putting your plush entrance on display. He salivates at the sight of you so vulnerable and open before him, the muscles in your legs tremble as he bends down splaying soft kisses on your inner thighs. You can feel his warm breath on your wet folds. A growl rumbles in his throat as he traces the line of your flower with his tongue, savoring your nectar .

“f-fuck…s-so good” you moan, biting back a scream of pleasure. Utilizing his free hand, he teases your slick canal with two thick digits before easing them inside. His tongue and fingers work in unison petting your inner and outer sweet spots. Never had he felt someone so tight and inviting, his cock twitches as your walls squeeze his fingers. Pumping his fingers in and out he simultaneously licks your clit, sucking and lapping at the bundle of nerves. Your hips buck and hands find his hair grinding deeper into his touch. He picks up the pace as your pussy quivers. his head moves rhythmically as he absolutely devours you. His chin is slick with your juices as he licks and sucks every inch of your inner labia. Your legs twitch and shake as the climax edges near, maintaining the same speed he pushes you past your breaking point.

“Can’t take anymore…i-its too much.” You sob gripping him tighter.

“It’s okay estás haciendo un buen trabajo(You’re doing such a good job) don’t give up on me…that’s it…good girl.” He praises finger fucking you through your orgasm. With a final yelp the gates open and you cum harder than you’ve came before, coating his fingers in your delicious cream. Slow and gently he slips his fingers from your spent cunt leaving you shivering and incoherent. Instinctively he puts those same fingers in his mouth sucking away the mess you made. Before you can even think of catching your breath, he sits up removing the barrier of his shirt and shorts. The elastic waistband of his shorts slides down exposing the defined V lines on his hips. His throbbing manhood burst free, the veins pulsing visibly with frustration. His head hangs hiding his red hot blush and low set eyelids, this feeling could only be described as animalistic. Using his fangs he shreds the webbing holding your ankles in place, setting you free. Your knees fall in exhaustion at either side of you giving him full access to your cunt once again. He towers over you, hands on the back of the couch to support his massive weight. You feel his cock fall thick and heavy on your glistening lips. He breathes deeply, rubbing his member along your split, his mouth opens slightly a pained expression pulls to his face.

“Me vuelves loca(you drive me crazy) I can’t wait anymore.” He growls lining his tip with your slick hole. He plunges deep and desperately inside you, his claws slice the back of the couch as he ruts into you. Those piercing red eyes bore into yours as he pistons into your pillowy heat. Your pussy clenches sucking him in further, the tip of his cock slams your g spot with each stroke. The grooves of your inner walls massage all eight inches of his thick rod.

“Me encanta tu cuerpo(I love your body)…te sientes muy bien(you feel so good)…No puedo resistirme a ti(I can’t resist you)” he groans low in your ear. He places his calloused hand under your knee pushing it back and opening you wider. He pumps in and out at a fervent pace, suddenly he switches the position of his hands to rest on your hips. With his Cock buried deep inside you, he stands hoisting you by your waist. Naturally your legs hang around his hips leaving you at his mercy. You’re a frightening 6’9 inches from the ground being fucked like a rag doll. His hands grip your ass as he rocks you back and forth on his dick. Your toes curl as he rails you slamming up while forcing you down on his cock. It’s hard and needy. He can’t control himself, his talons prick your flesh as he grips you tightly. His manhood throbs begging for release,head falling back as he forces you up and down on his shaft.

“Need to cum…can’t hold it f-fuck.” With a final thrust he slams deep within exploding and spraying your walls with hot cum. He holds you close as his body trembles, a thin layer of sweat glistens on his body. His cock twitches still hard inside you.

“Another round,hermosa(beautiful)?” He pants.

“Yes please.” You breathe.

[coldresolve]

Moneymakers, pt.lii // Aftermath of Blood

Previous / AO3 / Wattpad / Masterlist / Next

His first half-conscious impression is that of choking. An internal pressure down the front of his neck, down into his chest, like there’s an obstruction in his airways.

Choking, but also not, somehow - his lungs are moving regardless. He doesn’t have the strength to lift his hand to his mouth. He bites down on something, body screaming as he weakly arches his back, and then he tries to speak, but can’t. No groan, no whisper, not even the sound of air leaving his throat.

A hushed voice above him, the low-light blur of a silhouette when he manages to pry apart eyelids that feel stuck to each other. “Relax, kid, you’re good. You’re getting all the air you need, just try and relax.”

His eyes struggle to focus on the face, finding a gentle expression set in dark skin, and a casual, raised brow.

“Ready to breathe on your own, are you? See if you can squeeze my hand.”

His limbs buzz, whir, like wind spinning around his skin. The hand wrapped in his own is barely noticeable. It takes conscious effort he only barely possesses to make all fingers bend simultaneously.

Shaun grimaces a little, still keeping his voice low. “Normally I’d require a bit more than that, but you’re uncomfortable, aren’t you?”

Renee can see the edge of something blue at the bottom of his vision, something that stays in place when he shifts his head. His teeth dig into it, but it’s hard enough to withstand the bite despite his jaw’s ache at the effort. Fingers making a loose fist in the covers.

Maybe he blacks out, maybe time just passes. Shaun takes hold of the object in front of Renee’s mouth, his other hand firm on his shoulder, and tells him to try to cough. For a few seconds, Renee thinks he might’ve forgotten how to do that, and his uneven gaze seeks the other, silently begging for clues.

Finally, as if by chance, his diaphragm contracts, and he discovers he can make it do that on his own. Shutting his eyes tight, he pours all feeble effort into coughing.

What follows is the bizarre, oddly relieving feeling of the pressure leaving his throat from the bottom up in one, rapid movement. Even after the tube clears his teeth, he can’t stop coughing, a weak effort by his body to make sure his airways are clear – it finally makes a sound, then, hoarse and ragged. Fills his chest with pain, and his stomach with the sense of seams being pulled taught. Wheezing air in between attacks with every fiber of his being, grunting involuntarily against agony. A hand tilts him sideways by the shoulder, while another supports the back of his neck through it. Words of reassurance he can’t make out. The smell of his own sweat, laced with something chemical.

Eventually, it fades into heaving, which fades into deep, rapid breathing. A sense of warmth flows through his body, relieving the pain. His vision blurs and blurs.

The heavy dark brings him back down.

💵

“He’s sleeping every few hours.”

“I noticed.”

“And you don’t find that alarming?”

“It’s a reprieve, I suppose.”

“It’s a symptom, Kit.”

“That, too.”

“You know where this kind of thing ends if y—”

“Yes, I know. I’ve considered it, I’m aware. It crossed my mind.”

“So you just don’t care, is that it?”

Silence.

“I figured I was wise in keeping my nose out of your business, but the more I glean from this, the more I’ve realized I can’t ignore my moral repulsion.”

“What happened to loyalty?”

“It was tied to whatever false front slipped when you talked to my wife yesterday.”

Silence.

“I think I’ve made up my mind, Kit. I won’t stick a knife in your back when you leave. I’ll stick it in the front if you come back.”

Silence.

“Understood.”

Silence.

“You manipulated her too, you know.”

💵

The room has a different atmosphere. Different ambient sounds. Different smell, as if the brighter light against Renee’s closed lids somehow changed anything. Less biting, more pleasant.

The bed has been raised to prop up his back, not enough that he’s outright sitting, but he finds he’s lying more comfortably. His eyes flicker open, missing against brightness, walls that spin around him for several long moments.

Renee flexes his hands, although one doesn’t quite respond. He looks down at it. The cast for his elbow is back, from upper arm to thumb, joined by a splint around two fingers. Shifting its heavy weight reveals gauze following a curve down the side of his ribcage, and two red tubes sticking out of his stomach, joining with a mess of other wires. Under the covers, all he wears is a pair of boxers, but he’s pretty sure they’re not his own. He lets his head dump back down.

It's curious, there’s almost no pain this time around. Just a warmth, a pricking, senseless feeling all over, an iridescent sheen to the world, a barrier. A thick cloud in his head that makes his thoughts slow, then indiscernible after a certain point. Floating in warm mud, maybe.

Shaun approaches the bedside, half-leaning against it and offering a smile that’s blurred in his vision. “How are you feeling?”

Renee squints up at him. “’m high.”

Shaun nods, raising a brow. “Very.”

Swallowing thick, Renee’s eyes drift across the rest of the room. Off to the side, arms crossed over his chest, Davin dispassionately approaches to watch them. So does Conrad from a bed next to his, just a pair of eyes sticking out from the blanket covering his thin frame, idly watching beneath a mess of curls. Renee manages to move his tongue around, and it’s only then he realizes how dry his mouth is. Dry enough to burn if he wasn’t numb. His voice is so rough, he barely gets vowels out. “Do you h-have… water?”

Shaun smiles politely, backing up toward the door. “’Course. Sit tight.”

The sight of Davin should fill Renee with loathing, and he recognizes it on a distant, clinical sort of level, but the weight of that emotion is lost in the mud.

“You lost a kidney,” the man greets him.

When Renee blinks, even that feels sluggish, delayed. “… kidney,” he repeats.

Davin nods. “You know what a kidney is, don’t you?”

Renee nods a little. Frowns. “Why…?”

“A third of it blew out your back, I’m guessing, and the rest was so frayed it wouldn’t have healed on it’s own. Shaun had to cut out a small chunk of your liver, too. Minimal muscle damage, that’s the good news.” Davin sniffs. “There’s a second incision in your back where we fixated four of your ribs; one was poking at your lung but somehow didn’t penetrate. That’s just the notable stuff. I’ll give you the rest of the list, if you want it.”

Renee grimaces, in lieu of having enough energy to shake his head.

“You realize you got lucky, right? From now on, you’re living on borrowed time.”

Reentering with a glass of water in his hand, Shaun shoots him a look. “Let him gather his bearings, Kit.”

Davin snorts, casting his gaze down. “We’re a bit past courtesy,” he says under his breath.

Renee can’t lift the glass on his own, but he’s too exhausted to feel humiliated when Shaun brings it to his lips for him. Swallowing down the cold liquid finally triggers pain strong enough to break through the drugs, a rawness in his throat, as if the muscles involved are shredded. Still, he drinks hungrily, the nails of his good hand close to scratching at Shaun’s to pull the glass closer.

“Nice and easy, kid.”

The effort leaves him winded at first, panting hoarsely once the glass is finally empty. He sinks back against the pillow, head spinning.

It doesn’t suddenly crash back into his head, but instead flickers in his memory one drop at a time, moments here and there, out of order and hard to distinguish. Parts of it, whole sections, are gone entirely.

A trace of that feeling comes back – the one that’s marred the totality of his existence for what feels like an eternity. Maybe it’s triggered by physical cold water hitting his gut. It’s similar to panic - energizing, in a strange way, although it probably won’t last. With some effort, Renee hauls his upper body forward, pushing with his good arm until he’s sitting on his own. It dawns how wrecked he is – bar being drugged enough to see the world in far too many colors, moving in any significant way sucks the air out of his lungs, and even sitting like this, he can barely keep his balance.

Shaun’s hand is on his shoulder. “Try to rel—"

“I’m fuckin’ fine,” Renee bites out.

Just sore as hell. It doesn’t feel like he’s missing an organ, but then again, he’s not sure what that’s supposed to feel like. There’s mainly pain in his back, side and core, all mostly on his right side. The cast already has him curling an arm around it. He drops his head, letting his body adjust to the new position, breathing through it.

Davin clears his throat. “Fine enough to talk?”

Renee lets out a rough laugh. “Not to you.”

“I’d like to think I’m owed some clarity.”

Baring his teeth, Renee looks up at him, breath ragged in his throat. “Owed… You fucking started this.”

The way Shaun stiffens in his periphery isn’t lost on Renee, and Davin notices it, too. His jaw works for a moment before he turns his head towards him, inhaling deep through his nose. “Leave the room.”

Shaun grits his teeth. “If you’re going to—”

“He’s safe,” Davin says. “Leave the room.”

Shaun draws in a deep breath as his gaze travels the room, from Renee to Conrad and back to Davin. He looks on the verge of speaking, but instead sets his jaw, shaking his head. He brings the empty glass with him when he walks out.

Davin waits until the door has clicked shut before he takes a deep breath, shifting from one leg to the other. “I thought about double tapping you in the parking garage,” he mutters. “Took quite a bit of effort to view you as anything other than a loose end. Now I’ve compromised my own safety to save your miserable life. Don’t make me regret that decision.”

Renee sits tense, eyes locked on his lap. He can barely get the words, or the unsettling ease with which Davin says them, to make sense in his head, much less sink in fast enough to respond. Numb, shaking hands tighten and release, that’s all that happens.

Way too casually, Davin uncoils his arms and walks over to the side of Conrad’s bed, taking a seat on the foot of the mattress. He doesn’t seem to mind the way Conrad first coils his legs up further, then stiffly crawls up against the wall to increase the distance between them.

“Honesty for honesty, hm?” Brushing a chunk of hair behind one ear, Davin folds his hands, giving Renee an imperative look. “Mind explaining why your face has made national headlines?”

Even Renee’s hands stop fidgeting after that, reduced to subtle trembling as his fingers slack. He closes his eyes. “I don’t really… want to talk about it.”

“Too bad,” Davin says, matter-of fact. “News have been talking about an informant. Who was that?”

Renee frowns. “Inf…?”

A shock of cold water. His gaze snaps up, before he tries to reel his reaction back in, teeth gritted against the pressure threatening to loom in his chest. “He’s okay, right? He’s…? Is he… has he said anything?”

Davin eyes him for a moment, pursing his lips. “No, he hasn’t,” he mutters. “What’s his name?”

Renee shakes his head. “I don’t want—”

“News already described him as your source, if that’s what you’re worried about. The rest, I’ll find out eventually, you should know that by now. Cat’s out of the fucking bag, Renee. I’d like you to tell me who that guy is and what you told him.”

Renee winces, curling slightly over himself. Why would they release his details like that? Fucking drama-hungry—

“How did he find out?”

Ducking his head, he runs his working hand over his hair, grabbing his neck tight. Compressing his torso only agitates his injuries, but he can’t keep still in the overwhelming feeling of dread. He’s not ready to consider how fucked Laz’s life is going to be - or his own, or everything – after this. His voice is barely above a whisper. “God fuckin-… what was I even…?”

“Focus, Renee.”

“I stabbed him.”

Davin doesn’t sound the least bit taken aback by the confession. “I know,” is all he says. “What did you tell him?”

Letting out a terse breath, Renee looks up, although his shoulders slump. “I don’t fucking know, dude, I don’t—I wasn’t paying attention to…”

“Walk me through the conversation, if you have to.”

Renee shakes his head, teeth bared. “It doesn’t fuckin’ matter anymore.”

“Oh, yes it does.”

“Why?”

Davin snorts, raising a brow. “Did you tell him about me?”

Through the fog in his head, Renee remarks how bizarrely funny it is, the timing of Davin flashing his actual priorities every single time it might be relevant. He lets out a tense laugh. “I fuckin’ hope I did.”

Davin doesn’t react outward, but he’s silent for a bit, eyes locked with his. But contrary to the layered threats Renee expected, when he finally breaks from the staring contest, he smiles politely, tilting his head to the side. “Were you guys dating?”

Renee blinks, then lets out a bitter snort. “It’s not…”

“You seemed awfully concerned a minute ago.”

“What the fuck do you care?”

The slight curl to the corner of Davin’s mouth disappears, as he looks down at his hands. Something about the rapid shifts in atmosphere makes Renee indulge the silence, if nothing out of confusion – he can’t quite keep up. There’s a somber note to Davin’s voice when he speaks. “There’s something you should know,” he says.

The tone isn’t alarming, but a tiny movement in Renee’s periphery makes him glance at Conrad. Teeth locked, body pressed against the wall, as if he’s been trying to make himself as small as possible for the past five minutes. Renee catches him mid-wince, but he looks away the moment their eyes meet, brow creased in silent apprehension.

Renee swallows, frowning. “Wh…?”

Davin absentmindedly taps his thigh. “Police department did a briefing this morning. Officially confirmed you’re a suspect in Conrad’s case, but they did also give a recap of the events leading up to the chase. And I know they have incentive to embellish the truth, but…” He clicks his tongue. “There’s some things they have no reason to lie about, I suppose. They had EMS waiting near that building in case of an emergency. That cop you shot – Carla something – she was picked up by an ambulance and taken to the nearest trauma center. About an hour later, the news reported her death.”

The temperature in the room seems to instantly drop. Renee’s mouth opens, he’s staring at Davin with wide eyes. Not sure what to think, or if he’s even able to comprehend what was just said.

Davin’s jaw works. He leans back before he continues. “A couple paramedics stayed behind to tend to the informant, but he died on scene. You killed two people yesterday, Renee.”

On the other bed, Conrad has clasped a hand over his mouth, but even that doesn’t muffle the awful little sound he makes. It makes Renee turn his head again, distantly confused, but the guy’s eyes are shut tight now. He looks like he might be sick.

Brows furrowed, a slight curl to his upper lip, Renee gives a minute shake to his head. “Wh—I don’t… Are you talking about Laz?”

Davin nods. “Unless they forgot to mention a thirdperson you tried to kill, then yes, Laz the informant is dead.”

Breathing veering more superficial, Renee shakes his head again, blinking rapidly. “What… do you mean?”

“There’s not a whole lot of ways I could phrase it, Renee. You killed him.”

“I didn’t try to… It’s not…” He lets out a hard breath. “I didn’t hit his heart. You don’t die from, from—”

“I don’t know the specifics, but he’s dead. News have been circling footage of a body bag. I’ll show it to you, if you want to see it.”

It’s unnatural, the sensation washing over Renee, as if he can physically feel the blood draining from his head from the top down. His scalp, forehead, eyes and ears, mouth, jaw. Down and down. “You c-… There’s no way. There’s no way. He’s not—”

His throat closes, and he rocks forward,

Disjointed fragments of images, stuck in a loop, like an endless attempt to process the same piece of information over and over and over again. The sound he made when the blade punched into him, the look of shock in his eyes. The fact that he didn’t push Renee away, but instead drew him closer. Those can’t have been his last moments. They can’t, it’s not possible.

It hurts to think, physically hurts. Head, chest, stomach, agony. It’s paralyzing. Makes his body seize up, makes his breathing sound strangled to his own ears. Several moments pass, in which he can’t see anything. Or he can, but he can’t.

Can’t think for an eternity. Feels like he’s being deafeningly loud somehow, but when he finally manages to gather enough wherewithal to pay attention to his surroundings again, it’s silent. Conrad has ducked his face between his knees, shielding his head with his arms. Davin is just looking at him with an impassionate, but still vaguely curious expression.

Something like a whine escapes Renee’s throat. “You’re fucking with me. You fucking lying bastard, there’s no way—”

He’s halted in his tracks when Davin sighs, pulls out his phone and begins searching for something.

Renee holds up a finger, sneering. “Don’t fucking do that, don’t – I don’t care – I don’t give a fuck what they’re saying, do you hear me?”

With a hand on his thigh, Davin pushes himself to his feet, rolling his shoulders as he approaches the bedside. Renee feels himself recoiling, shaking as he , eyes fixed on the phone in the other’s hand. “I’m not gonna let you show me whatever the fuck—”

As soon as Davin is close enough, Renee kicks at him. He partially sees it coming when Davin catches his leg by the ankle, but what he doesn’t expect is for the man to lean his whole body into yanking backwards, pulling enough of Renee’s body from the bed to send him toppling over the edge.

Wires dislodge in the fall, coiling around his limbs, and IVs are ripped from his skin. The half-scream Renee lets out is painfully coarse and abruptly silenced when the floor knocks the air out of his lungs. He lands on his bad side, curling over his wounds before the pain even has a chance to flare, rolling over on his stomach. Above, the piercing blare of alarms from the machines that no longer detect his pulse.

He hasn’t even heaved in a breath before Davin’s knee is on his back, and a hand pulls his head sideways and presses his cheek into the floor. Vision sailing, he lets out a frantic grunt, struggling to will his lungs to inflate. “Ng—gh—”

“Stop it.” Conrad’s voice, a weak hiss.

Davin snorts. “I fucking hate denial.”

When he brings the phone down in front of his face, Renee instinctually shuts his eyes, wheezing through his teeth. The force on his head increases, as Davin leans his upper weight on the hold.

“Fucking look at it, Renee. You think I’m lying? I’ve never lied to you. Not once.”

Spit flies from his teeth as he bucks, half-conscious from agony, and pushes at Davin’s arm with his good hand - now streaked with blood from the ripped-out IV, plaster barely holding on by a corner. His eyes still find the screen, news B-roll taken outside of Lazarus’ apartment building. Yellow barrier tape – POLICE LINE DO NOT CROSS – flutters between light posts, dozens and dozens of people in uniforms, some of whom stand in groups talking, others walking to and fro. Center frame, a gurney is rolled down the tiled path from the front door to the parking lot.

“See that, mh? About the size of your dealer?”

The top of the gurney is covered in a white sheet, but the wind has knocked a corner up to reveal the black tarp-like plastic underneath.

Renee can’t process anything. He lets out a broken sound, another, another. Doesn’t quite know or understand what they are. Hitching, rough from his chest, bits of words and outcries, fragmented by sobs that won’t stop coming, mostly unheard by his own ears. Long after Davin gets up and lets him lie there, Renee’s eyes are fixed on the spot in the air where the white sheet was. His whole body shakes. He doesn’t feel human.

He doesn’t even feel like an animal anymore.

Previous / Masterlist / Next

[thiccschief]

Auto Feeding Machine

This is something I've been experimenting with but figured y'all would like it, too. If you're like me and want to be slowly fed a fattening gainer shake while you game/relax/whatever, you've gotta try it. Simply put the tube in your mouth (like a straw), turn it on, and let the machine slowly feed you fattening gainer shake. 🤤 Assembling it is pretty fast and straightforward, but I would def recommend reading through all the instructions first.

1. Pick your bottle.

I used a 1.5L bottle with a sturdy cap. The size of the bottle isn't super important as long as the cap can withstand the air pressure (explained below).

2. Pick your shake.

Pick your favorite calorie-rich liquid. I used Soylent, but Boost or melted ice cream would do great here. Just make sure it isn't too thick, as your pump may struggle to push it through the tubing.

3. Pick your pump.

The way this works is air is fed into the bottle, displacing your shake into the feeding tube (and then into your mouth.) So, you'll need an aquarium air pump. I used a small (and slow) pump from walmart, but I'd imagine one like this would be better. You'll also need quite a bit of tubing.

4. Assembly

Now that you have all your supplies, start by washing your bottle & tubing. (Remember, you're eating out of this thing!)

Start by taking your clean bottle and poking two holes in the cap. Make sure they are perfectly round and slightly smaller than the diameter of the tubing to create a good seal. (this is the hardest part)

Then you'll need to cut your tubing. I cut my tubing to have about 6 feet (~2m) on the feeding side, and 2 feet (~3/4m) on the pump side. On the pump side, attach the check valve that came with your pump (it should have an arrow telling you which direction to attach it to the tube).

Then carefully feed the tubing through the holes you poked into the lid. Pull the pump tube about an inch through, and the feeding tube however far it needs to reach the bottom of your bottle.

(NOTE: due to the air pressure, there may be a rush of air through the feeding tube when the level of shake in the bottle goes below the end of the feeding tube. This also happens if the bottle is knocked/falls over. I didn't find it to be too intense, but please be mindful of this and use it safely!!!)

Then, fill your bottle with your shake and carefully feed the tube into the bottle as you put on the cap (again make sure the feeding tube touches the bottom). Screw the cap on so it is nice and secure.

Now attach the pump tube to your pump. (At this point I would strongly recommend testing your setup for leaks and making sure the flow of shake isn't too fast. Use common sense and be safe.)

5. Simply put the feeding hose in your mouth like a straw, turn on the pump, and let the magic happen.

Let me know if you have suggestions/questions, and enjoy!

(also tag your favorite gainer you want to see try it!)

[rockingrobin69]

Beast of a thing

“What can I get you?” asked a loud voice, and Harry rubbed his face till his eyes burned.

“Hmm?” was clearly not the right answer.

“Coffee? Seems like you might need one. And something to nibble on. Sweet or savoury?”

“I,” Harry said, which wasn’t that much better. The—person?—who kept pestering him was smiley and extremely bright-eyed. Leaned down to him over a dark-blue apron, half-conspiratorial, half amused.

“Sweet, I should think.”

How rude. Harry crawled in here to die peacefully, not be badgered about fucking coffee. But a few seconds—minutes?—later there was more bustling, and someone placed a cup right next to where he was holding his head. It smelled hot. It smelled good.

Before he could even make the decision, Harry’s hands grabbed it and—oops—spilled a little, never mind. Yeah, it burned. Yeah, whatever. Harry raised the cup with a shaky fist and sipped something horrible and scalding hot. He felt, absurdly, and for the first time in—he felt a little bit like a person again. How fucking embarrassing. How fucking inaccurate.

“There you go, darling,” this time armed with a scone. The smell of clotted cream made Harry’s eyes roll back, made him choke. The jam was even worse, so sweet he nearly gagged. “This should cheer you right up.”

He nearly, nearly laughed. Was too busy growling, rubbing his pointy teeth against his inner lip. Something in his expression must have finally registered with the perky waiter, since they hurried back, tray cluttering as they hit something. Harry could finally go back to his—

“What now?” to the movement from the corner of his eye, but—the smell hit him first, hit harder. Lemon zest and evergreen forest. Something so pleasant it made Harry whimper, made him close his eyes. The newcomer used this reprieve to sneak into the seat next to Harry, so close their knees were touching.

“What do you want?” Harry asked, or whined. It hurt behind his molars, it hurt in the pit of his stomach. The touch, the unbelievable pressure coming from deep, deep inside.

“Hello to you too, Potter. You’re not an easy man to find.”

“Not an easy man,” Harry managed.

“Not a man,” Malfoy countered.

“Not,” Harry, “interested. Go back to the Ministry and—”

“So you really haven’t heard? I quit.” When Harry chanced a look, Malfoy was busy examining his fingernails. He looked—he smelled—he—was an onslaught Harry couldn’t, wouldn’t withstand.

Instead of whimpering again, of being pathetic: “So what do you want? Why come all this way if it wasn’t some…”

“Scheme?” Malfoy uncrossed his legs, leaned back. Too fucking much; Harry’s mouth watered already. “Plot? Who said it wasn’t. Maybe I’m hunting you down all for myself now.”

“Why,” Harry growled.

“Maybe I didn’t like the way you left.” A rustle: Harry didn’t need to look to know what that sound was. “Dear Malfoy, I hope you’ll understand—”

“Enough.”

Malfoy’s gaze burned on his skin. Malfoy’s everything burned. “—there’s nothing else I can do—”

“Enough. Please.”

A bang, too loud; his fist on the table. The coffee cup trembled, didn’t spill. “Oh, is that too much? Hearing your own stupid words? You can take it, sweetheart. We’ve not even got to the good part yet.”

Harry tried to take cover behind his hand. “Please, it’s—”

“I think you might be my mate,” Malfoy quoted in the iciest tone Harry’s ever heard, “Which is exactly why I have to go—”

“I did!” hiding, hiding. “How could I stay, how could I do anything when I knew I’d be putting you at risk? The Ministry won’t stop. And even if—even if they did,” in this horrible, shaky voice. “What I’ve become—”

“A fucking idiot, you mean?”

Harry looked up.

Malfoy’s lips were so thin. “I don’t care what you are. I don’t care what they tried to make you into. You think I might be your mate and then you run? Sentence yourself to, what, a miserable, lonely existence just because you’re scared?”

The shudder took him so hard he nearly fell. “I can’t hurt you,” Harry said through gritted teeth. “I won’t.”

“You have, arsehole,” with exasperation that seemed oddly fond. “Come on, Potter. You didn’t even do me the courtesy of asking.”

“Asking?”

“Veelas have mates too. You’d know if you bothered to stick around.”

“They have—” something whirled in his belly, in his chest. Something sickening and bright. “Wait. Are you saying—what are you saying?”

“You can’t hurt me.” Malfoy bent closer. “Not in the way you imagine. Not if you stay and work it out like an adult. I won’t let the Ministry use you as a weapon. I won’t let anything—I’m saying you’re an idiot, and I’m an even bigger one, and that if you’d run from me again, you’ll regret it.”

A smile burst, baffled and hot between his cheeks. “You… are you serious?”

“You think I came all this way for a joke? I only commit to things that are worth my while.” His grey eyes, burning. “Are you worth my while?”

Helpless, he grabbed Malfoy’s hand. The scent of him in Harry’s nose, heavenly and far too strong: everything he could hope for, that he tried to escape. “Please,” Harry croaked.

Malfoy hummed, leaned back. Used his free hand to steal Harry’s scone. “I’m staying across the road. When you’re quite done—”

On his feet. “Done.” The edges of Malfoy’s lips twitched.

“Very well.” He got up, cast a look from under his endless lashes. “Potter. If you leave again—”

“I won’t,” Harry promised, and meant it. Won’t be able to, now that he had Malfoy back in his arms, smelling and looking and being like that. Now that Harry felt alive, and like a person, and also not. Better than any treat, sweet or savoury. Bitter and sour, lemon zest and evergreens: his Malfoy. His mate.

 For my dear @generalpizzaengineer and their prompt 💖

[chronicallycouchbound]

Internalized Ableism As Means For Unhoused Survival

We need to dissect the cultural context of homelessness as it relates to disability. I’ve spent most of my life unhoused, while also being a disabled person who didn’t have a clear understanding that I was disabled, and both of these experiences had huge impacts on my experiences of ableism, especially internalized.

It needs to be understood that it’s not always rooted in internalized ableism for someone to not identify as disabled, especially regarding physical disabilities. Including choosing to hide disability, pain, or weakness. It also includes choosing not to use mobility aids or other assistive devices that could, in theory, be helpful for their day-to-day life. Instead, they grit their teeth through the pain or find alternatives to manage. This is akin to (and may overlap with) autistic masking.

Being on the streets comes with a culture that allows for strength to often guarantee safety. The ability to physically defend yourself, carry your belongings, withstand harsh weather, use survival expertise, etc. are often necessary skills. Showing weakness is vulnerability. Vulnerability allows for situations where you are more likely to be targeted because attackers can recognize your difficulties and take advantage of them. This danger is amplified if you are a part of other marginalized groups.

When I was a young queer and trans person growing up on the streets, my homelessness was inextricably linked to those experiences. If I were to seem like I was disabled, I was putting myself in a more vulnerable position. Once I started using mobility aids on the streets, I experienced significantly more dangerous situations than I had before. I faced more direct physical violence and threats as a result of it. It wasn’t just me fearing that I might face judgment for being visibly disabled, it was that I was facing real-world repercussions, both within the unhoused and housed community. I was targeted by housed people frequently due to the inherent publicity of unhoused experiences.

Unhoused people spend significantly more time in public. As a currently unstably housed person, but housed nonetheless, I have the privilege of privacy for my pain. I can crawl in my apartment freely without anyone literally kicking me while I’m down. I can scream, I can sob, I can dissociate, I can do whatever I need to, with or without aids, and not face violence from the people around me.

I also have access to more supportive aids just by having housing. I now have in-home care attendants, something that was impossible without a home. I have a bed I can rest in at any time. I have a microwave for hot pads. I have a bathroom. I have electricity. I have food. These things were never guaranteed while unhoused and disabled. Unsurprisingly, I have significantly fewer emergency room trips, unmanageable flares, missed doctor appointments, etc. now that I have even unstable housing.

When you have more time in the public eye, there are more opportunities for facing ableism and houseism from the general populace. Those two experiences intertwined, and being chronically homeless, led to me having to navigate internalized ableism as a survival skill because there was a direct link to the ableism I faced daily.

Some disabled people on the streets, especially if they can’t hide their disability, feel more pressure to present themselves as inspiration porn. Inspiration porn panders to ableist narratives about disabled experiences, and can even give you an edge while panhandling. It also acts as a protective factor, there’s a mindset that if you’re not held back by disability, then you are not disabled. Thus, your disability cannot be exploited by others, and you are just as strong as a physically abled person. It’s something we do because we have to in order to survive, whether or not we’re conscious of the ableist narratives we’re feeding into.

There are times when I have to choose to do actions that are more harmful for me, such as presenting as more abled, for my immediate safety. I have to weigh the risks, and often, the risk of being attacked is far greater than the risk of falling, fainting, or being injured. This is not internalized ableism, it isn’t subconscious, it is for protection. Presenting as disabled is difficult enough, but when other marginalizations are added to it, it is exponentially more dangerous. Even more so than it is for me to not use aids or to not accept help at times.

If I wasn’t able to be recognized as disabled, I was granted more privileges akin to those my able-bodied peers automatically receive. If a bathroom wasn’t accessible for me, but I did my best with it instead of asking for accommodations (which is often seen as being picky, needy, or ungrateful) then I was more likely to be allowed to use that bathroom again. The same goes for couch surfing at a friend's house, needing to carry everything I own up three flights of stairs, if I didn’t mention that it was difficult for me or said no to help, then I was being a good guest by not making my hosts uncomfortable. Making concessions like this whenever I could gave me more access to safety.

When my disabilities became more serious, and I wasn't able to keep making concessions, I would fall in that bathroom, I would faint on the stairs, and I immediately was more unsafe. I couldn’t hide my disability anymore, the choice was taken from me. No amount of pandering to abled people would make me able to do those things anymore. For me, that felt like a personal failure. I had been told my whole life that I could and should push through my disabling symptoms and conditions, and I took that as fact. Not being able to do that was a heavy and horrifying feeling for me.

It’s taken years (and is an ongoing process) to find safe enough spaces where I can ask for help. Where I can freely use mobility aids, show my actual pain, wear braces, wear compression garments, cry, rest, and otherwise exist as my disabled self without being harmed. It’s taken equally as long (and is still ongoing) to find grace within myself and advocate for the accommodations I need and actually use them. I still struggle with the pressure to feed into inspiration porn, something that the cripple reclamation movement is focused on deconstructing. I struggle with accepting help, asking for help, or even looking like I might need help. But I also recognize that beautiful things can happen when I get what I need.

It heals internalized houseism to be dismantling my internalized ableism, and vice versa.

Unhoused disabled people are allowed to be weak. Unhoused disabled people are allowed to cry, to scream, to be in pain, to ask for help. Unhoused disabled people are allowed to be human, just like everyone else.

[carionto]

I heard in the canteen that the humans once used a few antique combustion engines to start one of their portable stars. Any truth to the rumor?

Ah jeez, that was one hell of a day for that guy.

Yes and no. Where do I even being...

Okay. So this place up in Greenland called, uh... I'm gonna butcher this so bad, Hjeilhornhentrotnenheim, has an engineering museum, right? Right, and the guy in charge, his name is, ah fuck this is gonna be bad too ..., Hansinguaq Bjerresvontsgaardsen (I'm just gonna call him Hans from now on because uh yeah, no), collects all the things not fit for display in his personal transport ship. He's essentially converted it into his private mobile museum.

Not long after we established diplomatic channels and preliminary trade routes, Hans eagerly went off on his own to visit Alien equivalents to museums and such. Spent a solid three weeks traveling, sight-seeing, and adding things to his collection.

During a stop on the outer reaches of Coalition space his computer blue screened and forcibly shut down the reactor and pretty much wiped his communication array address book among other less relevant components. And no, I have no clue why he went so far out. He's 46, midlife crisis is my guess, telling him to go out on daring adventures or whatever. Anyway, he couldn't restart the fusion reactor while the inhibitor rod chambers were open, they open and shoot out the star canceler in an emergency shutdown, but one was stuck with the rod half-way in, so Hans had to manually open the reactor and fix it by hand.

Problem is, his transport ship, the Veritable Greenhorn, is fairly big, and the reactor's outer diameter was about 37 meters. Even in zero-g that's a lot of mass for one person to move, not to mention how much force you'd need to pry out a hyper dense metal alloy rod from a gate meant to withstand the pressure of a star right next to it. But he did have a lot mechanical power at his disposal, it just needed to be... rearranged.

Now, he did have backup generators that quietly hum in the background like on every Human vessel, but these are passive and nowhere near enough to charge the hyperdrive even if he could tell it where to go, let alone power machinery to counter a thousand ton jammed deadbolt. He needed something that had a kick to it, something you could really rev beyond its limits just long enough. He needed his V6s and V8s.

After almost two days of DIY engineering details I won't bore you with because I fell asleep when he explained them himself, Hans fired up the engines. It was a very tedious five hours of the engines rythmically tugging the deadbolt a tenth of a milimeter open and what is basically a massive jackhammer pummeling the rod back in. At one point he ran out of gas and was forced to sacrifice his alcohol collection.

Suffice to say it barely worked, all of the machinery he cobbled together became practically unusable, but it worked and he was able to restart the fusion reactor.

Oh, he didn't come home or anything by the way. Like I guess, midlife crisis. If anything, success has made him think nothing can get in the way of his Galactic exploration quest.

So that's the story. No, he didn't use combustion engines to start the reactor or anything, but lacking any other means to fix a problem I honestly didn't know could happen, the petrol guzzlers gave him the right kind of horsepower.

By the way, if you get a chance to tour the Veritable Greenhorn, I'd recommend it. I can't even begin to describe how that contraption looks, it's one of the main displays. I guarantee it's the most specific purpose built and rough pieces of Human engineering you will ever see.

[002yb]

Something about Dick kissing Jason for the first time, Jason's childhood crush just kissed him and his brain stop working

Convenience is the only reason why Jason stays over at Dick's apartment sometimes. It has nothing to do with how comfortable Jason finds it - homey and lived in with all of its clutter: knickknacks from travels, framed photos of friends, and hardy plants that can withstand Dick's hectic schedule and sporadically remembered watering.

There are quilts. Pillows. Added comforts for the sake of comfort and beyond necessity. It feels like a hodgepodge of decor - an atmosphere that reads of a lifetime in the circus and another in the manor; humble and extravagant and surprising no matter how often Jason has seen it at this point.

Back when Jason had first barreled through Dick's window, he thought he had the wrong place. It felt too nice for any bat-raised brat, though maybe Jason is the outlier (a compact studio that's all function over form; no valuables, no warmth; hard to trace and easily disposed of - hardly a home, but 'home' was always something foreign to him anyway). Drapes billowed around Jason from the breeze of the open window behind him and Dick stood in his kitchen, leaned against a counter while watching Jason curiously because Jason is positive he looked as lost as he felt.

He remembers the rug under his boot. Stepping back onto hardwood so he wouldn't dirty it. It's weird to him how that same rug is beneath his bare feet now, toes curling into plush softness before he brings them up onto the couch to sit cross legged. Stranger still is how some weeks ago when Jason fumbled through a demand turned request turned question: help me with a case? Dick smiled and invited him into his space and hasn't made Jason leave since: Yeah. Of course, little wing.

Not that Jason hasn't left. He only stays on an as-needed basis. For the case. Because Jason's continued presence here has nothing to do with Dick's cozy apartment or the comfortable couch Jason dozes off on multiple days of the week now. It also has nothing to do with a persistent and undying crush that has followed Jason through lifetimes.

This arrangement is strictly case-related. It's more convenient to stay. Their schedules - Dick's schedule, in particular - are hard to work around. To maximize their productivity, it makes sense that Jason be here. That aside, it's his case. Begrudging as he was to let Dick in on it, Dick has skill sets that have been invaluable towards finding a resolution (ie. Dick is a shamelessly cunning and manipulative bastard - he puts on a show well; he wears dangerous and dark well, a second skin); he's capable and lessens Jason's burden, speeding everything along by helping Jason be in multiple places at once.

It's a good partnership.

They're still in the thick of it; will be for a while, by Jason's estimate. A commitment Dick has been comfortable making because cases are less pressure than a relationship - leave him alone, damn.

Maybe it's the new single life Dick is back to that has him receptive to Jason's continued company. If whatever girlfriend was around, Jason wonders if Dick would ask him to leave - if he would leave, himself. An added bonus that Dick's company has been, at least Jason would have the apartment still.

Not that Jason is here for the apartment. Or Dick. It's a strategic base of operations, is all.

It's neither here nor there why Dick is agreeable to Jason crowding his space and cramping his style. They work, they eat, they sleep if time permits and then they do it all again. Working around Dick's day job is a pain if only because it's police work, but what's worse is that immediately after the day job comes the night job, followed by the added workload of Jason's tasks and after living staying with Dick sometimes for days at a time, well.

It stresses Jason the fuck out. He doesn't understand when Dick rests; he doesn't get how the hell Dick hasn't run himself into the ground already. Dangers of all the work Dick does aside, the pace isn't sustainable. Forget joining the ranks of the dirty thirties, Dick will find his way to an early death if he doesn't slow down. Jason has been there, done that; he can’t recommend it.

"Take the day off." Jason calls from the living room. He sits on Dick's couch, pouring over all the information and materials Dick gathered a few hours prior while Dick goes about getting ready for another day at the precinct.

He thinks he might hear a tired grunt, followed by a yawn and the sound of Dick bumping into a wall.

"Your work schedules are unreasonable." Jason complains. It's not the first time that he's done so. Unfortunately Dick is as stubborn as the rest of them - more so, arguably. And yeah, Jason can help out by cooking sometimes and having coffee ready to go, but domestic-adjacent help isn't a long term fix even if Jason did get to be domestic long term.

Dick needs to find some work-life balance.

"It's fine." Dick says, brushing off Jason's concern in a way that leaves Jason bristling. "I'll wake up in a bit."

Hardly convincing when Dick yawns for the umpteenth time in a matter of minutes.

"You'll pass out on patrol one of these days." Jason scoffs. "Just because I can carry your dead weight doesn't mean I want to."

Dick snorts from the other room. "GCPD is too high-risk to leave unchecked."

That Jason can't disagree pisses him off. Even still, he taps irritably at the laptop and glares at the screen as he grumbles, "You're overworking yourself. That's all I'm saying."

Grouchy as Jason tries to sound, Dick sees right through it to the earnestness beneath. When he walks out of his room dressed in his blues, he even looks refreshed - endeared. Oh, no.

"You're sweet, little wing."

Fuck. Jason ducks his head, lips pursed and cheeks warm. Dick shuffles about his apartment for a few minutes, drinking the coffee Jason set out before straying back to his room. Lest Jason give himself away more, he can't say anything further. He stays petulantly quiet, refocusing his attention on something that might be more productive than arguing with the wall that is Dick Grayson.

"I'll be back in the evening." Dick tells him. "We'll work more then?"

Jason grunts, sulking as he stares fixedly on the screen and the details of their case. For as strained as Dick is, the research that he's gathered for his side of things is good. Well, not good. It's terrible news, but it's insightful and damning and they can use it to their advantage.

"You might consider taking a break, too." Dick says. It does little more than earn him a withering glare, a weak snarl because the hypocrisy is truly staggering. Dick knows it, too. He snickers, hands raised in a show of placation as he relents, "Alright, alright."

"See you in a few," Dick says, checking the time on his phone before distractedly striding over to where Jason sits on the couch. If only because it's uncharacteristic and not how this routine usually goes, Jason furrows his brows, tilting his head to look at Dick and promptly going still because Dick leans down, brushing Jason's fringe back to kiss Jason's forehead before ducking out to get to work with nothing more than a 'thanks for the coffee!' tossed over his shoulder.

Jason stares after him - at the closed front door - eyes wide and thoughts so overwhelmed that his mind is blank.

What just happened?

Jason raises his hand to hold against his forehead. A blush stains his cheeks a pretty pink, then a flustered red from the tips of his ears to down his chest.

Another moment passes. Jason breaks over himself, closing the laptop and setting his work aside because fuck, that just happened. It's something easily explained away: Dick is exhausted and not thinking straight, or he got caught up in the domesticity of it all and fell back into what might have been a habit from the past. There's nothing to it, but even still Jason's heart hammers in his chest. Stuttering and skipping in time with all the butterflies in his stomach.

Stupid crushes.

The door opens again and Jason jolts to sit upright, still flushed and looking like a deer in the headlights. Dick stares after him, equally wide eyed - cheeks flushed in a way that Jason has never seen because Dick has done the impossible and managed to fluster himself.

There's no denying they're both wide awake now.

And Jason - he can play this any number of ways. A happy accident that he can shrug off to play it cool, a mistake that Jason can hold over Dick's head and torment him for, or it can be a chance. An opportunity no matter how long of a shot it is. Just the thought of it has Jason's heart skipping a beat, his breath caught in his chest; he had planned to take his undying crush with him to the grave (again), but what if...

Flirting is all plausible deniability until its not anyway, right?

"This is why you should stay home."

To kiss Jason again. To kiss Jason right.

Dick's lips quirk into something boyish and charming before he laughs, a quiet chuckle. He leans against the door frame, looking over Jason's expression, "Might kiss you again."

And - nope. It was a valiant effort but Jason is playing out of his league. Get him out. S.O.S. Abort.

Plausible deniability goes both ways and he thinks Dick might have done it better, the fucker. For the life of him Jason can't tell if Dick was making a self-deprecating joke or flirting back. It’s a critical hit either way just for the implication and Jason's heart can't handle it.

Something about Jason's expression must give him away because Dick huffs a laugh, a soft and endeared breath followed by a smile so devastating that Jason feels disarmed.

"Might let you if you do something to deserve it." Jason quips, cheeks flushed, all challenge when he says, "Like rest."

He doesn't expect Dick to call off of work, but his heart might stop when Dick does.

======

And then they sit together and work on their case until Dick passes out, head pillowed on Jason's shoulder and Jason is the blushiest of boys.

[hush-writes-preg]

Man, I'm still thinking about that chambermaid snippet you wrote and it's kind of developed into it's own daydream. It's definitely got my own twist to it since it's turned into a fantasy, buuut I thought I'd toss it to ya.

In my head it goes a little something like this. There's a petite transmasc person who's lovers with an important lord who is also married. Said lord is kind of emotionally distant and unfriendly but eventually this lil dude worms his way from in the general court to right up in said Lord's personal social circle. Eventually, an arrangement is founded with the Lord, his wife, and this trans guy, after the wife is assumed to be infertile after years of not conceiving, that he will be a kind of willing concubine for him.

So ofc, Lord guy starts absolutely plowing him on the reg. And also still his wife. And in some fucking miracle of nature they both actually manage to get pregnant.

The wife is sick most of the pregnancy, she's got all the negatives, the bloating, the headaches, the nausea, etc- The concubine has the opposite experience, round, full, glowing, insane sex drive, the whole shebang. So Wifey starts to resent him a little bit.

Story concludes with them both going into labor at the same time. For whatever reason or another there's no medical attendants around or even any chambermaids to help so they have to help each other.

The wife is having a really hard time. She's in a lot of pain, pushing, panting, moaning, but it feels stuck. The concubine on the other hand by that point has a head directly lodged into his pelvis, but he's sat himself on the ground to help her in such a way that he's purposefully not progressing, instead making the effort to help her.

They're both soaked in sweat. The wife is screaming, her labor pains immense and almost impossible to withstand, and she's barely making any progress. Meanwhile the pressure inside the Concubine is nearly orgasmic. He's so close to crowning now, and he's on edge. He's borderline delirious and every movement causes waves of bittersweet pain and pleasure through his entire midsection. He knows if he were too shift too much now, he'd likely succumb to his body's increasing need to push.

After maybe hours of labor, the Wife finally manages to push the shoulders out and her baby comes out with a gush of fluid. She probably thinks the Concubine is still in the earlier stages of labor given how they've had their legs practically glued shut this entire time.

The wife is absolutely like, destroyed. Hair is all frazzled, covered in sweat and various other body fluids, all sticky, just generally having a bad time. But she kind of snaps out of the post-birth haze when the other guy starts to pant rapidly.

She watches as the Concubine's body start to spasm as they shift their position. They give a loud yelp as with an intense sudden ferocity, the Concubine pushes once and their own baby gushes out of them with orgasmic fury.

-🛸

What an incredible scenario, 🛸 anon!

I love the thought of the Concubine struggling to hold his own labor in check while helping the Wife, knowing that she needs every bit of support he can give her during this time. Meanwhile, his body is doing wild things to him, on the cusp of edging while his baby slides lower and lower.

Imagine the Concubine slouching forward as his hips instinctively rise, opening up just enough room for that long-delayed baby to finally surge forward. It's just enough to set him off and into one of the most intense orgasms of his life. 💖

[orchidniins]

Opening Act | Arthur Hill

Who would have known that a quiet night in would lead you to unexpectedly cross paths with Arthur Hill? An encounter that would lead to a friendship that felt perfect in every way and a chance to open for him on his tour. But as real feelings start to develop, you're left wondering: can whatever the two of you have withstand the pressures of being in the spotlight, or was it better left as a happy memory? Pairing: Arthur Hill x f!Reader Series Warnings: Fluff, Angst [On Hiatus] A/N: This started as a single fic and turned into a little mini series. I felt like this fic just didn't flow as well as I wanted so turning it into a little mini series just felt the most organic. But, when I say I struggled on this summary like 2 hours only to still hate it, is not an exaggeration. Hope you enjoy!!

Masterlist

✩₊˚.���☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

⁺₊✧Track 1

⁺₊✧Track 2

⁺₊✧Track 3

⁺₊✧Track 4

⁺₊✧Track 5

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Check out my other fics and oneshots here. Not working on any new requests currently but feel free to drop into my asks for a chat! 😊

[fallynleaf-gifs]

Wherever I go... whatever country I go to... I want the Golden Lovers to fight with the same emotion and one heart. —Kenny Omega

“What would Kota think?”

2019-2021

This is a long-overdue gifset. I meant to finish it in November 2021, then I meant to finish it in early 2022, then, well, May 2022 happened, and the Golden Lovers story effectively got put on ice, so I shelved the gifset, too. But now we have reason to hope again, so here it is. The Golden Lovers’ path has never been a straightforward or easy one.

I’ve seen Kota Ibushi described as a “ghost” that haunted Kenny Omega for those few years, but I don’t think that’s quite accurate. Kota has been part of the fabric of AEW itself since the very beginning. Despite the fact that he has yet to make an actual appearance, he has been present in direct references and allusions, in the Golden Lovers symbol on the shoulder of Kenny’s gear, and in the golden “E” in “AEW”, which originally came from the Golden Elite.

Without Kota Ibushi, AEW as we know it would not exist. Of course, a large part of that is his continuing influence on anything and everything that Kenny does. Kenny Omega only really tells one story. It’s the same story that he has been telling his whole career. Sometimes it’s a quiet, subtle story, and sometimes it’s a very loud one. Sometimes it’s both at the same time.

The first direct, unmistakable reference to Kota in AEW happened in an infamous Undertale-themed VTR on October 30, 2019. In it, Kenny is plagued by his own insecurity (which was not helped by Kota’s recent G1 win, in contrast to Kenny’s recent failures in AEW), and a seductive voice tries to prompt him to let it take control before his other tag partners leave him, too. But Sans steps in to stave off the inevitable, and Kenny manages to keep it together—for about a year or so.

The next reference happens a little over a week later, at Full Gear on November 9. Kenny has an unsanctioned match with Jon Moxley, and he brings out all sorts of weapons, including a horrific bed of barbed wire that Hangman Page and the Young Bucks were reluctant to help him with. But what gets him in the end isn’t any weapon, but a failed Phoenix Splash (Kota’s first finisher) onto the exposed wood of the ring. From there, Mox hits a Paradigm Shift and pins him. Kenny could endure broken glass and barbed wire, but the one pain he couldn’t withstand is the pain of a broken heart.

After that, he tries to retreat back into the only comfort he knows: tag team wrestling. He pressures Hangman into tagging with him, and the two of them set their sights on tag team gold. Miraculously, they manage to make it work, winning the titles a scant month and a half or so before the world shuts down. Kenny’s main focus is on tag team wrestling during this time, but in order to fix one major blemish on his singles record, he ends up wrestling Pac in an ironman match on February 26, 2020. One of the moves he pulls out is unmistakably a Kamigoye (Kota’s current finisher).

A few days after that, on February 29, Kenny and Hangman defend their titles against the Young Bucks at Revolution. It’s a match with quite a few references and callbacks (especially to the Golden Lovers vs Young Bucks match in 2018), but the most striking moment was the Bucks hitting Kenny with a Golden Trigger (the Golden Lovers’ finisher), which Kenny kicks out of after a mere 1-count, prompting a massive response from the crowd. No one can weaponize the Golden Lovers’ own love against him like that.

The end of that match portends division and betrayal between the four men, but before the story can continue as planned, the covid-19 pandemic hits, and everything in the world of pro wrestling changes.

The year that follows is a hard one. Kenny’s AEW tag title run has a cruel symmetry with Kota’s concurrent NJPW tag title run. Just as Kenny and Hangman finally find their equilibrium, FTR arrives to sow conflict, The Elite fractures, Kenny and Hangman drop the titles, and Kenny gives up on tag team wrestling. Everything in the Undertale VTR had come to pass. Having nowhere else to go, he goes to an old family friend: Don Callis.

Then, at Winter Is Coming on December 2, wrestling in frigid 40°F weather at the open-air Daily’s Place, Kenny beats Jon Moxley for the AEW World Championship, thanks to Don Callis helping him cheat. The two of them abscond with the title after the so-called “golden screwjob”, and Kenny takes it somewhere the Young Bucks aren’t willing to follow him—Impact Wrestling.

Thus kicks off the Belt Collector arc. Kenny soon acquires two new/old goons: Karl Anderson and Doc Gallows, both former members of Bullet Club. He starts considering himself part of Bullet Club again, and declares his intent to collect more belts besides the AEW one (and the AAA Mega Championship, which he already had), starting with Impact.

On January 4, 2021, Kota Ibushi wins the IWGP Heavyweight and Intercontinental Championships at Wrestle Kingdom in NJPW. A few days after that, Kenny posts an Instagram story wherein he looks at Sports Illustrated’s list of the top 10 wrestlers of 2020. Kenny is number five on the list, and Kota is number eight. We can see that Kenny was looking at Kota’s entry before he looked at his own.

Then, on January 28, on the three year anniversary of their reunion, Kota tweets at Kenny, proposing that their two companies change the industry together. Kenny replies, using Nak’s translation as a mediator, and says, “Already feeling lonely in the Kingdom I left for you? Shall I destroy it? Take my hand, we’ll build a new one”. Kota responds to him, but receives no answer.

A few days after that, on February 3, Kenta appears on AEW Dynamite, blowing the so-called Forbidden Door between AEW and NJPW wide open. From that point on, we’re truly in uncharted territory.

Kenny challenges for (and wins) the Impact World Championship in April, but leading up to that match, Don simultaneously stokes Kenny’s ego and tries to gaslight him into erasing Kota from his own history. He encourages Kenny to repeatedly say that no one has ever kicked out of the One Winged Angel (only one person actually has: Kota Ibushi. He’s the source of Kenny’s greatest strength and his greatest weakness). However, no matter how much Don tries, Kenny’s age-old insecurity emerges on March 23, when Don names a long list of wrestlers that Kenny is supposedly better than, and Kenny yells out “Bigger than Ibushi!”

Kenny names Kota again in a AAA promo on August 31, listing him among the best high flyers in the world. It’s abundantly clear that to Kenny Omega, Kota Ibushi is the greatest wrestler in the world. No matter how far Kenny goes, no matter how many belts he collects, no matter how many accolades he receives, Kota Ibushi will always stand above him in his own mind. Kenny will never be able to outrun him or let go of him. He can’t fill the hole in his heart with a new tag partner, and he can’t fill it with belts, either.

While all of this is happening, Kota is unfortunately not having the greatest summer of his life. He loses the IWGP belt to Will Ospreay on April 4, then gets aspiration pneumonia in July. He participates in the G1 Climax tournament in September and manages to make it all the way to the finals, but he dislocates his shoulder after a failed Phoenix Splash while facing Kazuchika Okada on October 21.

Kenny’s own injuries come back to haunt him, too, but his autumn goes a little bit better.

Adam Cole—an actual ghost from Kenny’s past—comes back to sow trouble for the Elite (though it takes a while to actually manifest), debuting at All Out on September 5 along with Bryan Danielson. Bryan wrestles Kenny a couple weeks later in his first match as an AEW member, on September 22 at Grand Slam. He forces Kenny to fight him with everything he has, and for just a moment, Bryan is able to draw out the Best Bout Machine instead of the Belt Collector. As he always does in his moments of greatest need, Kenny reaches for Kota Ibushi, and once again executes a Phoenix Splash, which, as always, he is unable to actually hit. This time, it doesn’t end in tragedy, though. Instead, the match goes to a full time limit draw.

The death knell for the Belt Collector looms near, however. Hangman Page earns himself a shot at the AEW World Championship at Full Gear on November 13. Three days before the match, they hold a contract signing for it on Dynamite.

Hangman, who knows Kenny very well by this point, is able to read the subtext. He finally figures it out. He realizes that everything Kenny said to him, everything that he did to him and with him, it was never actually about Hangman. It all sprung from a deeper wound that Kenny has carried with him all this time. As soon as Hangman figures this out, nothing Kenny does to him can hurt him anymore. "But if I remember, you once had another tag team partner who maybe you felt like you didn't measure up to either."

That one line also does something else that’s very important: it brings Kota Ibushi out of AEW’s subtext and into the main text. He’s part of the story now. And he always was. (The man himself liked a gif of Hangman’s “you once had another tag partner” line on twitter shortly after it happened. If there was ever any doubt that he’d been keeping up with what Kenny was doing in his absence, it’s gone now.)

Maybe the best illustration of this is a front row sign that a fan brings to Hangman and Kenny’s match at Full Gear a few days later. “What would Kota think?” Kenny stops to stare at it for a long moment before entering the ring. Years earlier, he’d talked about being so surprised and thrilled that the fans had managed to pick up on the Golden Lovers story leading up to their reunion in NJPW. He was so touched by the fact that the fans had known their history, after all that time. I wonder if he felt something similar here. It was in many ways the culmination of his efforts. The story made deeply tangible, here at the climax of its most difficult chapter.

As was always meant to happen, Kenny loses to Hangman and drops the AEW title. He makes one last onscreen appearance on November 17, 2021 before temporarily stepping away from AEW and away from wrestling so that he can recuperate from years of overworking himself. He says, “I feel like... there’s things I gotta fix, there’s things I gotta change, and I can’t do it here.” Is his relationship with Kota one of those things he had to fix?

Here’s where the story gets a bit hazy. Unfortunately, the year that follows does not go particularly well for either of the Golden Lovers, and plans have to get rewritten. Their respective injuries take longer than expected to heal, which leads to Kota having a falling out with NJPW in May 2022 after they try to force him to come back to the ring too soon. Kenny is finally able to make his own return in August 2022, but he returns to a troubled backstage environment, which finally boils over during the media scrum after All Out on September 4. Kenny and the rest of the Elite are forced to vacate their freshly won Trios Championships, and they all get suspended for a few months during the investigation.

But even in the darkest of moments, things aren’t all bad. The Golden Lovers reunite in a restaurant in Japan on September 15. They reunite on their own terms, outside of any company. The future is still a bit unclear for them, but wherever the story goes next, they want to do it right. “Because the tag team with him is more special to me than anything,” Kota says. He asks Kenny to wait for him, and Kenny assures him that he’ll wait as long as it takes. They both proclaim that the Golden Lovers aren’t over.

One day, the stars will align for them again. If it happens in AEW, the stage is already set. "What would Kota think?” was the question posed at the end of 2021. Maybe one day we will get to hear his answer.

[shelandsorcery]

Astronomics Game Art : Designing Mining Equipment!

Gonna talk this week about designing mining equipment for the sci-fi game Astronomics - demo on steam right now! - And I thought I'd start with a little conversation about research and process (...that doesn't really have on a much art in it but just stay with me) and maybe get to tap in a little bit into how someone like me who doesn't do a lot of technical design learned a lot about how to get excited about that whole field through the research stage of this game.

So when I say research I really do mean fairly old-school research — and this is probably gonna be a theme with a lot of the posts about this game in particular, because I don't think you can build sci-fi without some understanding of engineering systems and current scientific realities to then play with, you know?

As you may gather from the trailer, Astronomics is a game about asteroid mining, among other things. Which meant that we had a lot of need for legit industrial feeling props and tools for the player to use, things that felt functional and believable without feeling complicated or delicate. I really enjoy the challenge of adding appeal to something that maybe people don't always think about being appealing or fun or cute (this is never an absolute statement — there's always somebody already able to see more appeal in any given subject and I could ever imagine) so part of the research stage is going and looking for that appeal. So above you can see a sheet of loose rough sketches I did in clip studio paint from reference that I gathered with the rest of the team and by myself that seemed relevant to some of the designs we were pursuing.

If you've had the chance to play the demo, you'll know that it's not just surface mining but we are going to be letting you mind gases and liquids and underground mineral veins as well — these are all things that people do in the real world of course, so process one was taking a quick look at those actual industries and then figuring out how I could condense that activity down into a pretty simple and easy to understand machine.

So turned out what we needed was something that drilled and dug, something that pumped liquids, something that sucked air, and all of these things needed to then produce some sort of container to hold what they had collected.

In a videogame you really need to communicate to the player why each act they do is significant and different from the others, and as the art director it was my job to figure how to do that through visual design of the tools they're going to be using. So that meant that even though you could certainly store liquid and gas and solid resources in the same kind of box, I wanted to try and find ways to keep each thing feeling different. Best case scenario is that you're able to look at a prop we've designed and know in a split second which of these three states of matter it will be containing; in the research stage one of the things I'm looking for is any existing visual language that we have (in this Western English-speaking North American videogame audience culture) that already solves this problem.

The great thing about industrial design is that they indeed have very intentionally tackled this problem. Part of it is purely physics optimization that the field of engineering has been working towards for human history. For example, when you're storing liquid and you want to remove all of it from a container you probably don't want something with corners — that's how you end up with cylindrical liquid storage. When you're storing a gas you're likely keeping it under pressure, which means you need a shape that will withstand pressure evenly, which means you're looking for something with literally no corners or edges ideally — and that's how you end up with bubble-shaped gas storage like a propane canister. And then when you're storing something solid and you want to use the space most efficiently and be able to stack whatever it is that you have packed it into, you have a box.

Real good news is, a box and a cylinder and a sphere are all wonderfully visually distinct shapes in a fantastically strong place to start when it comes to solving the question of storage. So then we get into the challenge of the machines themselves — what distinguishes a drill from a pump from a vacuum?

So that's the beginning of some of the questions that you have to answer when you're designing props for a game — in the research stage is only one of bunch of different ways you start figuring out these answers. But I want to talk for just a second a little bit about how I personally wrangle my research, because I am definitely not telling you this is the only way to do it. It seems like it may be worth explaining what I get out of this process and see if anything here make sense for you!

One of the reasons that I have this huge page of sketches, big and detailed or tiny and loose, all laid out in one place for me to look at, is because I personally learn and remember things more strongly by taking notes. With my hand holding a pencil ideally. And when they're abstract concepts or verbal or numerical then I'll use writing and I won't have a problem with it, but my job at this stage was not to figure out abstract concepts or to find themes — my job was to solve visual problems. So my first order of business was visual research specifically. Now for me, that involves lots of things — I have a Pinterest board for any sort of subcategory of stuff I'm researching to just do enormous broad research with; then I probably bring most of those images into a huge working .PSD file and move them around to create groupings. And then I start drawing.

I really think that drawing is integral for me at this stage. I don't think I could do this without drawing as part of my research. There's so much that I just don't bother noticing if I'm not going to be drawing the thing that I'm looking at; even the worst, fastest, sketchy as drawing makes me pay infinitely more attention to something then I do when I am simply collecting information mentally. I'm phrasing this in a somewhat exaggerated, self-deprecating way, but I really can't exaggerate how much more I get out of things when I sit down and draw them. They talk about drawing is a way of seeing, and for me that's a practice I've intentionally pushed and explored in my life.

The other thing, though, is that visual problem that I need to solve. Sometimes solutions to the problem aren't obvious until they are visualized — it can be very easy to get distracted by things like surface details and miss the silhouette language, or vice versa, but when you are doing the drawing you have to wrestle with the silhouette and the details and make decisions about them. Visual trends appear way more clear when you are drawing something for the 10th time as opposed to simply seeing it for the 10th time. And all of the layers of cultural meaning and context that clutter up a photograph can be simply ignored as you transfer only what you need to a drawing, where you might discover something that everything else hid until then. Beyond that, one of the things you may notice about the sketches is that they are somewhat cartoony — I'm certainly trying to capture important details and be representational to a degree, but much like gesture drawing the human figure, researching this way lets me start finding out what the gestures are of these different sorts of subject matter. This is something that I knew about creature design, and about flora design, and one of the real joys of this game in particular was proving to myself that this gesture approach applied to industrial machines and technology as well.

I mean, I knew that there were cute trucks out there, but gosh.

I think if you are in need of something to reinvigorate a particular piece of subject matter for you — if you're designing something that you are just not that excited about, or if you don't feel challenged by the work in front of you — I really think sitting and sketching from reference can open up the complexities and help push you and your work farther. It certainly works for me and I know that the learning I did on this game is something I carry with me to future projects as well.

That seems like a pretty strong place to leave this post in particular, but I'll be back later this week with more breakdowns and screen caps of the actual design process of all of our adorable mining equipment!

I would really love to hear from folks if you also engage in similar research processes before going into full design mode — or if you have a completely different way to get your mind revved up and ready to go, I would really enjoy reading about it!

In the meantime, if you're curious about mining asteroids but it's cute please feel free to check out the Astronomics demo on steam, I made an awful lot of visdev art for this and handed it off to some incredible game creators who have done some really impressive stuff taking their ideas and my ideas and running to honestly some pretty new and exciting places with them.